Lines of Demarcation
by amelia day
Summary: "It's a protection, Katniss," Peeta mutters, dejectedly. "Even if I was allowed to be paired, who would want me?" If only he knew... In a world where your entire life has been decided for you, it's hard not to be envious of what can never be yours.


**Warning: **rated NC-17 for strong sexual content. Although this story is **endgame Everlark **the sexual content includes: Katniss/Peeta, Katniss/Rye, Katniss/Rye/Peeta. If you can handle this, then enjoy!

_A special thank you to my beta fnur for helping make this a pretty thing. _

* * *

Part One

* * *

"Mrs. Mellark?"

I ring out a fresh washcloth over the bakery's small sink, the boiling water stinging my palms as I move towards the counters where all the day's preparations will be completed and wipe them down thoroughly.

"Mrs. Mellark...?"

"Katniss?"

My head snaps up at the sound of my name and quickly moves to look between Mrs. Undersee and my husband, who both wear a mask of confusion as they stare back at me.

It takes only a moment for it to occur to me that it's _me_ Mrs. Undersee has been calling for the past minute... _not_ Rye's mother. It's just hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that now I too am a 'Mrs. Mellark'...

"You'll have to forgive my wife," Rye chuckles easily, winking a little towards me. "She's not a morning person."

It's not the truth. I've always been a morning person, since the time I was little and would sneak into the woods with my father. It was essential to my family's survival - my being a morning person - because it's the easiest time to hunt without being caught by the Peacekeepers.

But I don't hunt anymore and I'm even quieter in the mornings than I am throughout the day, so I guess there's no way that Rye could know I actually wake before him, laying stiffly in our bed, waiting for his alarm to sound so I can pretend it woke me up too.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, plastering a smile to my face and moving from behind the baking counter to the front one near the register where Mrs. Undersee stands. Her daughter, Madge, used to be one of my better friends, but we don't see each other very much anymore now that we're out of school.

Growing up, I lived in an area of District Twelve nicknamed "The Seam." It's basically the slums of the least-favorite District, where the coal miners and their families live. Madge was the mayor's daughter and lived in the center of town in one of the nicer homes in our area.

But none of that matters anymore, because now I am the baker's wife and live in a home with two floors and a shower and _locks _and Madge is now a Hawthorne, living in the same neighborhood I grew up in.

It was the one pairing from last year that shocked our District. Because surely, out of us all, Madge was supposed to be _safe_. _She_ should have been the baker's wife.

But, when it comes to the pairings arrangement, the Capitol does not take bribes. You're matched with whomever they choose to match you with and that is _that. _

"How can I help you?" I ask, only half listening as she rattles off a dozen different pastries and breads we offer, asking me which tastes better or lasts longer or looks the prettiest.

I want to tell her I have no idea. Though I'm technically married into the bakery, I know little about it. I'm not a baker, and for that I don't blame the Mellarks for not trusting me in the kitchen.

"Well, which is your favorite?" she finally hedges, swatting in my direction jokingly. "Madge goes - um, used to go - crazy over the cinnamon rolls."

I sort of feel bad for Mrs. Undersee. She and Madge had always been a close pair, so she must miss her incredibly. She doesn't see her much anymore either...

Two heavy hands land on my shoulders, causing me to jump. _Touch_ is one of the many things I've yet to get used to about my new living environment. Rye pulls me back into him gently, squeezing my shoulders before wrapping an arm around my middle.

"Katniss isn't quite as fond of sweet as she is salty," he replies, and then gives me a quick nudge. "Though, she'd eat anything that comes out of that kitchen."

I laugh on cue, rolling my eyes playfully before shaking my head.

"She's partial to our cheese buns," he continues. "It's all she ate for a month when we were first pai- _married_. I thought for sure that was all I'd ever have to feed her again!"

There is no mistaking that Rye is a Mellark. He has the same easy way with people that his father once had while he owned and worked in the bakery. After our Pairing Ceremony, Rye inherited his family's bakery and Mr. and Mrs. Mellark Senior were officially "retired citizens," an honor only merchant families could achieve.

It's typical for merchants to pass their businesses down to their first son or daughter who is married, as a reward for beginning a new phase of life, for finding acceptance from the Capitol.

Every citizen in Panem must apply to be entered into the pairings roster on their eighteenth birthday, but not everyone meets the requirements to be placed with a spouse. If you're denied, there is no chance for you to reapply. You are humiliated in front of your district, constantly reminded that you are a _defect _and serve essentially no purpose to the system.

There are not many opportunities for these "defected" ones.

Rye's older brother, Bannock, should have inherited the bakery. He would have, I have no doubt, if he hadn't been reaped for the Hunger Games when he was seventeen.

I didn't know him personally, but sometimes Rye will talk about him or mention his name in the throes of a nightmare while he's tossing and turning so violently in bed I nearly fall out.

"It's true," I manage, clearing the scratch from my throat. "I strongly suggest the cheese buns."

"Well, I'll take half a dozen," she says, reaching into the small coin purse she has slung around her wrist. She hands me a crisp bill, the kind that took me months to get used to holding in my hands. The most I'd ever seen before becoming a Mellark was a couple of silver coins. In the Seam, we mostly traded products, not money.

Rye grabs some of our fresh buns to package as I hand Mrs. Undersee her change with the same fake smile from earlier.

"You and Rye must be very excited," she grins impishly, tucking the coins back into her purse. "With your one year anniversary coming up and all."

I catch the glint of the thin silver band around my finger as it glimmers in the sun's light coming through the large window. It's the same ring Mrs. Undersee wears on her finger, and every other married woman in Panem. A visual sign of commitment to another and of Capitol _approval. _

_Already a year gone by... _

"Hard to believe," I manage, twisting the band around my finger subconsciously, a blueish ring indented around my otherwise tan skin from the cheap material.

"It's gone by quickly," Rye adds, handing her the box of goodies.

"I'll bet," she smirks, her eyes glancing between the two of us. "Business must be busy this month."

It's not just our anniversary that's coming up, but about a hundred other couples who were paired together the same day as us last year at our ceremony. It's considered the first "milestone" in District Twelve, to attend your first marriage ceremony as a couple, and afterward as tradition has it, you're supposed to go home and have a private toasting.

It's sort of like a private commitment to one another. A vow of love. Because by a year of marriage, logistically, you should be in love with one another.

The arrangement is made by the Capitol based on the results of several different tests that evaluate all aspects of your physical, emotional and mental makeup. You're paired with the strongest fit in your district, all to ensure you can give them better, prettier, more entertaining children as tributes for Panem's most popular event: the Hunger Games, which take place every year just a few weeks after the Pairings Ceremony.

With this year's Pairing Ceremony only a week away, Rye and I will be expected to celebrate our toasting along with everyone else.

_I should be in love with him by now._

It's not like there's anything _wrong_ with Rye. He's good-spirited, kind-hearted, funny and patient. And it's not like I haven't heard the girls giggling and whispering about his looks all throughout high school.

_You're so lucky, Katniss. _Prim had whispered to me, looking down at the metal band around my finger in awe. _I hope I get paired with someone like Rye._

And I guess comparatively, the odds were in my favor. Because Rye is genuinely _good._

But he was still picked for me. And I know for a fact had there been no such thing as "Hunger Games" and "Pairing Ceremonies," Rye would not be my spouse.

Mrs. Undersee keeps a vice-like grip on the box of goodies she carries and smiles her goodbyes to Rye and I, obliviously pushing the door into the girl who tries to dodge her from behind. I hear Rye let out a snort above me, and when I glance up he only shakes his head at the scene in front of us. I smile a little.

They must know one another because Mrs. Undersee wraps her free arm around the girl's shoulders awkwardly as they exchange pleasantries. Rye keeps his place next to me, tapping his fingers repeatedly against the counter top in almost a nervous matter as he watches the scene in front of him. The behavior strikes me as being somewhat odd, but of course I do not tell him so. It's just that usually when he's not with a customer directly, he keeps himself busy with things around the bakery or kitchen.

"Hello," she finally greets, stepping up to where we stand.

"Hi, Lacy," I reply, knowing my smile is not nearly as genuine as hers appears.

_She's had years of practice, _I remind myself over in my mind as I feel the corners of my lips tighten further.

Before becoming "merchant" I knew of Lacy only through the off-handed comments Madge would make occasionally. The core group of girls she hung around outside of school included Lacy, and she always liked her best because she was softer spoken than the rest and didn't care for the typical "town gossip" like most the others. Unknowingly, when Madge was paired with Gale and I Rye, I took her "place" within the group of girls.

Lacy is my favorite as well.

"Just your usual?" Rye asks from behind me, already moving to make a box for her.

"Yes please," she replies quietly, casting him a gentle smile.

She's a naturally pretty girl with medium-length auburn hair and bright blue eyes. She used to keep her hair shorter, a little ways above her shoulders. When I noticed one day that it touched her collar bone, I casually mentioned the change to her.

"Thank you," she mumbled, her freckled cheeks darkening. "Nico, he... likes it better that way."

Her husband, Nico Caverly, never had a reputation for being the kindest. Though I heard plenty about him through idle chat around school and saw for myself in some shared classes, the comment that stuck with me the most about him was made by Rye, on our first night together. After showing me around and bringing my few belongings up to our bedroom, he made me my very first hot chocolate as we sat across the table from one another, trying to build a relationship from nothing.

The comment was just in passing, as we were chatting awkwardly about the Pairings Ceremony.

"_Poor Lacy."_

It sent a shiver down my spine. Because Rye is just one of those people, the kind that search for every good thing about a person before pointing out the bad.

Lacy stops into the bakery most mornings to pick up a small order of pastries and breads for her husband, because as she's mentioned before, he _doesn't favor_ the way she bakes.

"_But how can you in comparison to the Mellarks?"_ she asked, teasingly, and Rye and I laughed even though I didn't find it funny.

"Here you are," Rye smiles, handing her the box.

"Thank you," she murmurs, extending a hand out to hand him a few bills. As she reaches out the sleeve of her shirt rises a little, revealing a bruise around her wrist in the shape of a hand. It's not the first time I've seen one of these marks on her skin, but it could easily be the worst. The mark is a mixture of deep blues and purples, the skin surrounding it angrily red.

My eyes search between Rye and Lacy as she drops her arm immediately, tugging at her sleeve. His smile is gone.

She switches the hand she holds her money in, waving it impatiently for him to take but he only pushes it back towards her chest. Her eyebrows knit together in confusion but Rye continues to shake his head in protest.

"Don't worry about it," he says, clearing the thickness in his throat.

"I have to give you something," she insists and I recognize the determination in her tone as being similar to the kind I used to carry in my own, when I didn't want someone's charity.

My chest tightens.

"I'll take a rain check," he suggests. "Does that work?"

Her worried expression slowly wilts as she tucks the money into her pocket and picks up her package, shifting awkwardly on her feet.

"Uh... thank you... both of you," she says politely, her head whipping towards the door as it opens. Immediately, with the added audience, her expression brightens and she casts us both a plastered smile.

"I'm sure I'll be back soon. I'll need some fresh bread for the toasting ceremony."

"Okay."

"And Katniss, I'll see you later on this week," she continues, moving further away from us.

"See you, Lacy."

"Have a good day now," he waves as she disappears behind the heavy oak door. He sucks in a breath deeply, running a hand through his thick set of hair before turning to face me and letting it spill out.

"Did you get breakfast?" he asks, his cheeks dimpling a little as he tries to smile a little.

"Not yet."

"Better grab something," he hedges. "It'll probably be another long day here."

"Okay."

He turns back towards the register before throwing a glance at me over his shoulder. "Peeta should still be at the house."

My heart beats rapidly in a way it definitely _should not _when Rye speaks his brother's name and I blush furiously, turning back towards the counter in hopes of appearing bored by his words.

"Maybe you should try to catch him. I think he was making something to eat. He can whip you up something too."

"Um... okay," I say, and I know my tone is too eager, I'm nodding too fast, but I can't stop myself. "If you're sure you don't need help here."

Rye snorts, waving me off with his hand.

"Best to disappear now while it's dead."

"I won't be long," I promise and Rye gives me one of his trademark smiles before making the few steps it takes to be in front of me and bending down until his lips touch mine lightly.

"Take your time."

* * *

It's a short walk from the bakery to where our house sits on the outskirts of town. Rye has been living here since before we were paired, though I'm not sure for how long.

It's a small, well-kept house, made from brick (_distinctly merchant) _with a long wooden porch we sometimes sit out on at night. When Rye first brought me home here, just hours after our pairing ceremony, he told me he originally bought the place when the old man who owned it passed. He liked the small veil of privacy it provided.

And in a world where it's so hard to find privacy, I could respect that.

The house is quiet when I creep past the unlocked door, but faintly as I grow closer to the kitchen, a low whistling becomes clearer. Peeta stands next to the countertop, and just as Rye had predicted is squeezing the last of some sugary white frosting on top of some steaming plated cinnamon rolls.

He's angled with his back mostly to me, his broad shoulder blades flexed through the material of his shirt as he grips the handle of his wooden crutch to move around the kitchen, closer to the sink.

The crutch has always acted as a make-shift leg for him, after he was born without a right one. Growing up in different parts of District Twelve, I only ever saw Peeta around at school, and even then we never really talked to one another.

But I'd heard plenty _about_ him.

Back when I was young, the worst name you could call someone was a _defect. _It was equal parts insulting and humiliating and really there was no comeback, because there was _nothing _worse than being a defect.

It was always sort of said in a hiss, like it pained the speaker to even spit the word out, and most of the time it was followed by talk of Peeta Mellark - the only "defected one" in our school. I remember one time, when my class was walking down to the cafeteria, we passed by a teacher who was scolding a child outside of the room.

"_I don't want to hear you call that boy defected again."_

"_But he is! He is defected!"_

"_And he's going to have to live with that for the rest of his life," _the teacher continued. _"While you grow up and have a family and opportunities, he will not."_

I didn't like that she told him that. I'm sure in her mind she'd thought maybe it'd teach him compassion, but her words only served as more ammunition as I heard the same boy taunting Peeta with them in lunch the very next day.

Although I never actually talked to Peeta personally throughout our years in school, I always knew I liked him. He gave smart answers when he was called on in class and decorated the cakes Prim always made me stop to look at on our way home and although he looked eerily close in appearance to his brother's, I still remember noticing that his eyes were blue while his brothers are brown and I always thought that made them shine a little more.

After nearly a minute of standing watching him in the kitchen's doorway, he still hasn't noticed my presence and continues to wash the dishes that pile up in the sink. I make my way closer to him steadily, careful not to make any noise until I'm directly behind him, so close I can smell the cinnamon that encases him.

"That's a lot of food for one person, don't you think?"

"I figured you were going to grab the plate and run while my back was turned," he replies easily, the edges of his lips twisting up slightly.

"You didn't know I was here," I protest, leaning my back against the counter as he turns to face me fully.

"You're not as quiet as you think," he says in a whisper, snickering as I roll my eyes.

It took months of getting used to one another for this playful, more relaxed side of Peeta to make itself known. Peeta moved in with Rye the same day as me.

I'd never actually _seen_ a "defected" one at a Pairings Ceremony (the last one being District Twelve's one and only Victor: Haymitch Abernathy, who drank himself to mental instability only months after his return from the games), so I had no idea what to expect. I remember my own cheeks reddening in mortification as they called Peeta's name and he walked best he could to the small wooden stage, knowing fully what was to come.

Rye and I had been home an hour when the knock sounded at the door. I wasn't surprised to see him; head cast down, eyes rimmed red, with a single suitcase at his feet.

"_M... Mom and Dad..."_ he couldn't finish, but there wasn't much of anything else for him to say - we'd all already seen the way Mrs. Mellark made a tense situation even more so. It was no secret growing up that Mrs. Mellark was a gruff woman. All three of the Mellark boys were caught sporting different bumps or bruises on occasion, but everyone knew it was different with Peeta.

He was broken. Destined for failure from the moment he was born underdeveloped, which meant that in some way, Mrs. Mellark had also failed.

Bearing sons, having a successful business, the wife of a merchant; Mrs. Mellark was one of the most envied women in town. _Until Peeta. _

Suddenly, she went from _the baker's wife, the woman with the beautiful blonde-haired boys,_ to the mother of the _defected child._ And the Capitol pronounced her no longer fit for child-bearing.

One night, months after we'd been paired and were lying in bed with one another, Rye told me that he'd been planning on Peeta moving in with him the day of the pairing ceremony for a long time now and he was relieved that I hadn't made a big deal out of it. It wasn't normal, for newly paired couples to live with anyone else, but not against the rules either.

And I certainly didn't mind. I felt a strange sense of relief when he came to the door, satisfied knowing he'd be living here under the protection of his brother, and me, if needed. Most aren't lucky enough to have someone to take them in, and the idea of Peeta living in the streets of the Seam with other older defected ones still makes my stomach knot.

He had little to no words for me in the beginning, and although I tried, I'd never been one for conversing freely with strangers, so our friendship had a rocky start. But slowly, as we both started lowering our defenses, we realized we were actually quite similar and enjoyed one another's company.

"I was a hunter," I continue, pulling myself up onto the countertop in front of him. "The worst way to insult a hunter is by telling them they're _loud."_

"Well, I wouldn't want to insult you," Peeta replies evenly, pulling two plates out from the cabinet beside him. I have to bite back the offer to help, because I know he'll only think it's because I think he can't handle it.

"It wasn't so much your foot work as it is your inability to blend into your surroundings."

"You're the painter," I say, lifting the sticky bun that Peeta's placed in front of me to my lips. "Teach me to blend."

"Maybe. It's a fine art not just anyone can acquire," he speaks dismissively, before nodding towards my breakfast. "Good?"

"Very," I nod, taking my next bite, reveling at the way the dough seems to melt in my mouth. Peeta seems pleased with the response, nodding a little while picking at his own roll.

"Thank you," I murmur, swallowing my bite heavily as he turns back up to face me. His eyes are a shade of blue I can't quite describe... a mix between the color he uses to paint pictures of oceans we've seen only on screens showing footage from District Four or in textbooks, and the sky right before the nights blackness takes over.

So different from his brother's.

"Of course," he answers evenly, sipping from the glass of water he grips in his hand. "So, will you be in the bakery all day?"

"Yes," I say, swirling a chunk of the cinnamon bread on my plate, picking up extra frosting. "Enjoy your day off."

"Thanks, I wi-...oh, uh..." Peeta lets out a breathily laugh.

"What?"

"You just have a little frosting," he chuckles, moving his hand up towards my face and swiping his thumb over the side of my lip. I inhale deeply, watching as he slowly retreats back, his eyes still focused on mine.

Daringly, I scoop the frosting from his finger onto my own and press it to my lips. I don't miss the way his blue orbs widen and how his lips part just slightly to make space for his panted breaths.

A heat that's grown familiar spreads throughout the pit of my stomach and I feel my skin start to burn as blood flows to my cheeks. I figure they must match Peeta's own rosy ones, and the tips of his ears which are nearly red.

My eyes flicker back to his own and the reality of the moment hits me. I jump up from my spot on the counter quickly, embarrassed.

_What am I thinking? _I groan internally, pushing a stray lock of hair from my face while refusing to look back up at the man in front of me. _This _has_ to stop happening. _

"I uh... Rye would probably love one of these," I murmur. "I should take him one. Before it gets too busy for him to eat."

"Yeah," Peeta agrees, clearing his throat. "That's probably a good idea. Here... uh, I can package it up for you."

"No, it's okay," I insist, placing one down on the plate in my shaking hands and moving towards the door. "I'll see you later."

I turn and am out the door before he has a chance to respond.

* * *

The moon's glow reflects through the long open window, dancing across the ceiling and illuminating the figure above me. I can just barely make out the beads of sweat that cling to his forehead and the way his lips part just slightly, allowing his tongue to slip past as he scrunches his face in concentration.

"Ugh, _Katniss."_

Rye's head falls down to the crook of my neck, his breath tickling my clammy skin as he releases a low groan. The arms that are on either side of me quiver with the effort it takes to support him and his thick veins bulge as he continues to thrust his hips forward to meet my own.

With temperatures pushing nearly a hundred every day, nightfall does little to provide relief; the air remains muggy, causing our breaths to come out in thicker pants and our skin to slap against each others louder.

A stuttered moan falls from my lips as Rye reaches an arm between our sticky bodies, running his finger across the small and sensitive area at the apex of my thigh. As he continues to circle and flick across it, I feel my body start to shake as it rocks harder against him unconsciously.

"Are you close?" he grits, his jaw clenching as his eyes screw shut.

"_Yes," _I breathe, feeling my stomach beginning to coil and my thighs shake. I reach a hand up and push it through his sweaty hair where it clings to his forehead.

_In the darkness... with his eyes closed... he looks so similar... so close to..._

"Come on, Kat," he murmurs as he starts to lose his steady grip against me. His thrusts become more shallow, quicker and I can feel myself clenching around him tightly as he hits the _same spot_...

"Oh god," I swallow heavily, panting as I instinctively reach up to grab the wooden bars that decorate the headboard of our bed, squeezing them tightly as my back arches and eyes shut tightly.

"Fuck!" he cries, grunting continually as I feel him spill inside of me, his entire form above me shaking as his orgasm washes over him. I ride my own out too until our thrusts become lazy and finally stop.

The air is so quiet around us it feels almost too loud.

Rye falls off from on top of me, laying limply on his back until his chest stops heaving and his breathing returns to normal. I watch as he lifts himself back into a sitting position and walks across our room - so heavy footed - until the light switch in the bathroom turns on. I hear water running in the sink and then become aware of the stickiness that still coats my inner thighs, pulling myself to sit up too, suddenly self conscious of my nakedness.

I slip the long night shirt Prim had made for me the night before the ceremony on and slither past Rye into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me before I start cleaning up.

It must be late. Rye is usually home in time for dinner each night, but tonight he was a few hours past that, and even then, we hadn't come upstairs right away. Hopefully it won't be long before he falls asleep, having to be up so early and all.

I feel silly making myself fuss over him, the concept being a strange one, but it's what good District wives do. They worry over their husbands and ask them how they're feeling and try to make their lives run smoothly so they can do their jobs smoothly so that the Capitol will run smoothly.

I try to remember back to the way Mother used to fuss over Father; sometimes straightening the collar of his shirt, or wiping coal smudges from his cheeks when he got home from work.

I didn't know what "Pairing Ceremonies" or "pairings" were until I was almost six years old. It had never occurred to me that Mother and Father hadn't _fallen in love... _and that like the rest of us, they were only together based on a decision far out of their reach.

"_But we do love one another, Katniss,"_ Father had promised me when I grew upset. _"I care for your Mother so much."_

"_But how do you know?"_ I insisted. _"You didn't choose her!"_

Those nights, they'd list off everything they loved about one another until I was giggling and they were kissing and I would tell them to stop.

I still wonder sometimes if they only said those things to get me to stop crying, and if one day I'd be comforting my own kids in the same way.

Later on, long after a mining accident had taken my father's life and I was approaching my own Pairings Ceremony, Mother told me I had nothing to fear.

"_Katniss you're a great girl, you're going to be paired with someone wonderful, don't worry." _

"_But it doesn't matter. If I'm not attracted to the-"_

"_-That doesn't have anything to do with it," _she insisted, shaking her head. _"He will be yours and you, his. You are all each other will ever know, and all you will ever have. You will get used to it."_

"_You don't know that."_

"_...You must, Katniss."_

"Katniss?"

I poke my head out past the bathroom door, the light just bright enough to shine on Rye's confused face.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," I say quietly, flicking the light switch off and navigating my way through the dark back into bed. My shoulder brushes against Rye's as I adjust, but other than that our bodies do not touch.

"I... I think maybe, that could have been the time," he finally says, an underlying nervousness under his upbeat tone.

The only reason the Capitol came up with the pairings system is so that the citizens of each District could produce smarter, stronger, prettier children for the annual Hunger Games. It's typical, by a full year of being paired, to be expecting by now.

Most the girls I passed at school every day are either pregnant or already parenting beautiful little children they'll soon have to give up for slaughter.

But Rye and I keep trying and... _nothing._

At first, I was relieved because the last thing I wanted was to bring a child into the cruelty of the world. And although he never said it, I know Rye felt the same way, having experienced the Capitols coldness personally.

But, as the months continued to go on, and _still no baby_ any leftover feelings of relief quickly dwindled into nervousness. Tense nights followed appointments with my mother - a natural healer - who urged us to keep trying, because there was no sign of life growing inside of me.

"_Is there something wrong with me? Am I... did I not do it... right?" _Rye asked one night, his cheeks flushed red as he pulled at the roots of his hair in frustration.

"_No, you're not doing anything wrong-"_

"_Then how com-" _he cut himself off, breathing deeply through his nose._ "I'm sorry. I shouldn't worry you like this."_

"_We'll keep trying," _I encouraged, swallowing the thick lump that formed in my throat. _"Mother said just keep trying."_

"You think?" I mumble back into the darkness and feel the pillow beside me move as he nods his head quietly.

"But, try not to think too hard about it," he chuckles to himself, recalling the bit of advice Mother had given us during my last visit. She'd said that sometimes the added stress of constantly thinking about it might be what's affecting our progress.

She then suggested we try "being intimate" with one another _just because _which only served to make a mortifying situation even more so.

_Take some of the pressure off._

"Will do," I smirk, my lie clinging in the muggy air.

"Alright," he breathes, leaning over to place a quick kiss on my forehead. "Goodnight, Katniss."

"Goodnight," I mimic, folding my hands with one another across my stomach. It takes only a few minutes for the sound of Rye's soft snores to fill the room as he unconsciously turns onto his side, his back facing me. I turn away from him too, curling my legs into my body, draping an arm over the top of them.

I stare at the wall in front of me for a long time, so long that my mind starts to go blank and I have to blink my eyes a few times before turning over in the other direction. I close my eyes this time, focusing on my breathing and how soft the pillow under my head feels and other superficial things that might work to clear my mind.

Through the open window, crickets continually sound, filling the empty space between Rye's dull snores, all of which are pushing me further from sleep.

I continue my shifting, trying to get comfortable in the bed (that suddenly feels _too soft) _without waking Rye, but it seems useless.

My throat's dry, I realize, and although I could easily ignore it for the night - I've been thirstier before - it's a good excuse to stretch my limbs and maybe help to clear my mind enough for me to find some sleep.

With enough reason found, I crawl out of bed stealthily, pulling the covers back up evenly before slipping through the heavy door leading into the hallway.

It's dark out in the hallway, but my eyes are already adjusted and find the stairs easily. I'm surprised to see the kitchen light still on, wondering how Rye and I could have missed it when we went upstairs.

A sip of water falls past my lips, dribbling down my chin and neck across my salty skin. It feels nice and I wipe it away over myself more fully before turning back towards the stairs.

I freeze as I glance towards the front door out of the corner of my eye and see it hanging open. Instinctively I tense and press myself against the wall as much as I can, slowly creeping further towards it.

As I get closer, the faint sound of rocking grows stronger. I peek outside, a strange mix of adrenaline and curiosity surging through me until I make out the mop of blonde curls that are distinctively 'Peeta.'

My heart rate slows and I feel my tense shoulders drop a little as push the door open silently, stepping out onto the porch deftly before allowing it to shut behind me.

"Usually the stars are easier to see this time of year," he mentions casually, making no other indication that he's aware of my presence.

I chance a step towards him.

"Yeah, I can usually see them through the window upstairs," I add conversationally. "But the sky is pretty bare tonight."

"Hmm."

I sit in the empty chair beside him, pulling at the knee-length gown as it rides up a little before messing with the tip of my braid, awkwardly. It's not often Peeta and I can't carry a conversation, but tonight I can't even get him to look at me.

He picks at the wood on the arm rest of his chair, staring out past the thick oak trees that shield the house from open road and breathes heavily through his nostrils.

"I didn't expect to see you when I came down here," I say, swirling my finger along the condensation building up on the outer rim of my cup. "Why are you still awake?"

"You know why," he mumbles nearly inaudibly. He clears his throat before finally turning his head to face me, wearing a rueful smile. "The rhythmic sound of thumping against the wall isn't exactly the gentlest lullaby."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, the skin on my face growing hot.

"Don't apologize," he says back quietly. "You have nothing to apologize for. He's your... husband," the word catches in his throat and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows heavily.

"...Not by choice," I reply and the words are hardly out before his head snaps in my direction fiercely, his eyes wide and jaw clenched.

"Katniss, never say that again."

"But it's true."

"_Katniss," _he says sternly, his voice taking on a tone I've never heard him use before. "Don't ever let anyone else hear you say that again. Promise?"

Of course I know what could happen to me if someone were to over hear us and tell the Peacekeepers. They'd have me arrested for rebellion, which is punishable by death.

I also know that the Peacekeepers here in Twelve aren't exactly the most efficient men either. Hunting outside the restrictions of the District is also a crime punishable by death, but Father and I used to sell directly to Peacekeepers, who were well aware you cannot find deer anywhere in here.

But, going against the pairings arrangement and hunting barely a mile past the boarder of District Twelve are two different things entirely...

"Please, promise me," Peeta whispers again, his voice strained when I don't immediately answer.

"Promise," I finally mumble, and then stubbornly add in my mind that _it's still true._

"Good," he breathes, seemingly more relaxed with my vow fulfilled. He leans further back into the chair until his head rests against it easily and lets out a quiet sigh.

"Family is... the most important thing you'll ever have," he continues gently, no longer looking at me. "I guess I'm just having a jealous moment."

He lets out a small laugh, but not like the kind when I burn a loaf of bread or fail to sneak up on him, more like something is amusing to him in a pathetic way. The sound does not sit well with me.

"Since I was younger I remember wanting that wit-" his voice cuts off and he shakes his head a couple times, his eyebrows scrunching together before he pushes his hands through his hair with an inhale. "I'm sorry."

"You're one of the nicest people I know," I say, my voice surprising me as it takes on a harsher tone than I anticipate, but with it releases the anger continues to boil up inside of me until my entire body feels inflamed and I'm clutching either side of the chair below me.

"You shouldn't be denied a family because of..." I glance down at the place where his trouser's pant leg is picked up and pinned back behind him, a clear indicator of his "defected" spot. He notes my gaze and bends over a little at the waist, and even in the dim lighting I can see his cheeks darkening.

"It's ridiculous," I finish, my tone murderous. "Something should change!"

"It's a protection, Katniss," he mutters, dejectedly, leaning over to grab the wooden crutch to lift himself up into a standing position.

"For who?" I ask incredulously.

"For everyone," he chuckles darkly, the forced smile fading when I stare up at him icily.

"Even if I was allowed to be paired, who would want me?" he asks me honestly, already making his way towards the door. "They would spend their entire life wondering what they did to deserve _the defect."_

I hear the screen open and a moment later he disappears behind it. I don't chase after him because I figure there's not much of anything I could say right now that would make him change the way he feels. I've never been good at knowing what to say.

But his words continue to play in my mind as I rock back and forth in the chair, enjoying the occasional breeze that breaks out through the sticky air.

_Who would want me?_

If only he knew.

* * *

In our last year of schooling, Madge Undersee and I used to eat lunch together in a deserted classroom instead of the usual courtyard the other students gathered in. My only other real friend, Gale, had graduated the year before and Madge didn't enjoy sitting with the other kids who lived in town.

"I see enough of them as it is outside of school," she'd shrug dismissively whenever I wondered about it.

There were a few times I remember her mentioning having to go to her afternoon "knitting group" after classes let out, though I never paid it much attention. Madge seemed excited by these sessions at first, because as she explained it, she was learning important life skills for when she would someday be the woman of the house - having to make new clothing for the children and repairing different holes and patches. But after only a few sessions, her enthusiasm for the group dwindled to the point where she seemed almost sour to go.

She was shocked to find that I didn't attend such a group, but living in the Seam, new fabrics for clothing was the last thing you were spending money on. When I first explained that I wasn't in any of the types of classes she was - dining, knitting, everyday-etiquette - she seemed almost envious of my "easier lifestyle." Of course what she failed to realize is that while she went off learning how to be a_ "lady of the house"_ I was in the woods trying to put food on the table so that my family didn't go hungry.

After we finished our mandatory years of schooling together, I never really gave her classes much thought, but not two months into our marriage, Rye kindly reminded me that I really _should_ try to participate in some of the activities the women in town involve themselves in.

Initially, my reaction had been to tell him that I didn't want to, so I didn't plan to. But... I knew that was wrong, even punishable if Rye decided to tell the Peacekeepers. Rye was a fairly reasonable partner; never forcing me into doing something, always generous with his time and resources, trying his hardest not to dictate my life in the way that I've seen other spouses do to their wives...

So I decided that because it would make him happy and reflect well on him, that I would give the "sewing circle" a try. I think most of the women there were surprised to see me; Katniss Everdeen, the dirty seam girl now married to the baker's son? Almost as surprising as Madge Undersee, daughter of the Mayor, married to a coal miner.

I swing by the bakery to pick up treats to bring over to Delilah Cartwright's house - someone I feel strange calling "woman" because I still remember her as the pudgy fourth grader who poked her pencil through my milk carton the one day I had enough extra money to buy one, but she has a baby on the way now and is hosting the knitting circle and married, so I guess that constitutes her as a woman.

When I slip past the door, Rye is chatting with about five different customers. The easy smile he wears does well to showcase his dimples, making it clear that he truly loves what he does. I overhear him listing out some of the ingredients that are used in the pastry tarts displayed at the front counter and figure he's too busy for chatting.

I help myself to a box stowed underneath the countertop where the register sits and push my way through the door leading into the kitchen.

It's not long before I spot Peeta, tucked away in the corner where he bends over a large cake, adding decorative pink-icing flowers to each tier. He whistles an unfamiliar tune quietly, balancing most of his weight on his good leg with a good amount of space between his armpit and crutch on the other side.

His cheeks are rosy pink from what I assume is the warmth of the kitchen and he uses his forearm to push back some of the floppy curls that have fallen forward into his eyes. He blinks, his hands shaking a little as he uses a great deal of precision to make flowers petals just right, and I notice for what I think is the first time, just how long his eyelashes are. He blinks unconsciously a second time, the thick lashes just barely brushing against his skin before his eyes reopen.

Without realizing it, I fall into the door a little, causing it to squeak as it opens further and Peeta's whistling stops as he turns to face me suddenly. His expression softens when his eyes meet mine and I fight to pull myself into an upright position, crossing my arms over one another.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," he repeats, turning back to his cake. "I didn't expect to see you this morning."

"Just needed to pick up a few things," I reply.

"Oh _right,"_ he says, his smile widening playfully. "You have your _crochet _class, or whatever that is you call it."

"Bullshit, you mean?"

"Shhh," he laughs, shaking his head. "You're bad."

"You know it is."

"I know," he grins.

I'm pleased to see Peeta in good spirits after the sour end to our conversation last night. He had already left for the bakery before I woke up this morning, so I hadn't known what kind of mood to expect from him when I arrived. I had debated on bringing last night up the entire way over here, but finally came to the decision that it was Peeta's place to bring it up if he wanted to talk about it. The last thing I wanted was to rehash out bitter and embarrassing feelings if he's already worked through them himself.

I walk over to where he's standing, watching as he decorates the very top tier of the extravagant cake with petaled flowers. His tongue pokes out just slightly past his lips and his eyebrows furrow in concentration before brightening with success.

"There. All finished."

"It's beautiful," I say honestly. "Prim would love this one."

"I need to make her some more cookies sometime," he mutters, checking his cake over for imperfections.

My younger sister loves Peeta's cookies and has been spoiled with them ever since Rye and I were paired. He can only usually afford to make her a batch when the bakery is having a slow day, taking extra time and care to decorate them with different-colored frosting primroses.

I was surprised the first time I brought a batch to her and she told me to make sure I thanked _Rye. _Confused, I asked if she meant Peeta and her eyebrows scrunched up as she shook her head, reiterating _Rye_. She handed me the small piece of folded paper she'd found inside:

_To: Primrose. From: Rye._

I went home confused that night, and the next several times he signed his brother's name to the cookies he'd spent all day making. I'd watch as Prim would wrap her arms around Rye excitedly each time she saw him in the bakery, complimenting him on his sweet treats and Rye would obliviously thank her, telling her to take whatever she wanted behind the counter.

I caught Peeta watching one day too, as he carefully balanced a tray of cookies to replenish the front supply in his one free hand. He smiled to himself at the interaction, not minding at all when Prim brushed past him as though he were invisible.

I thought about asking him why he did it, but every time there was a chance to bring it up, I never did. He had his reasons, I was sure, even if I didn't understand them.

Peeta had trouble talking with people outside of Rye and I, and for that, he kept his association with the rest of the world to a minimum. I just hadn't realized that he included my younger sister in that group as well. Though it mortified me when she'd pretend he wasn't in the same room as the rest of us, it was never done out of vindictiveness but rather lack of understanding.

I can't recall how many lectures I've sat through, talking about how the defected were _different_ and as superior human-beings we did not owe them our time if we did not feel it necessary. Even before Peeta and I were friends, such talk used to make my blood boil and chest tighten painfully with anger. I can only imagine how Peeta felt.

"She'd like that," I say and he nods in agreement, straightening his posture and wincing as he rubs a hand over his shoulder. I note the way his eyes flicker from the cake to the refrigerator on the other side of the kitchen and back. He catches me staring and smiles shyly, shifting his position a little.

"Does that need to go in the refrigerator?" I ask, so he doesn't have to.

"Yeah, but it's all right for now."

"I can stick it in there."

"No, reall-"

"It's not a big deal," I assure him, getting a steady hold on it before moving across the room.

I hear Peeta trailing behind me and note the dark twinge to his cheeks as he holds the cool door open for me.

"Thank you," he mumbles quietly.

"See, I'm not entirely useless in the kitchen," I tease, earning a genuine chuckle from him.

"What snacks do you need today?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Whatever's quick," I shrug. "Delly's big on punctuality and group starts in... fifteen minutes?"

"Well I promise not to be the cause of your tardiness, Mrs. Mellark," he says, filling the box with bite-sized treats. "Those are some girls whose bad sides you don't want to be on."

"Thank you," I say, taking the box from him.

"Have fun," he snickers with sarcasm so heavy in his tone I feel an overwhelming urge to stick my tongue out at him, something I haven't done since childhood surely.

"You too," I reply, stepping through the door which connects the bakery and kitchen to one another that Peeta holds open.

Business is significantly less busy than when I arrived, as Rye stands ringing out the last customer left in the small shop.

"Oh good, Peeta helped you," he smiles, noticing the box of treats in my hands. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to ignore you earlier."

"It's okay. Busy day."

"Yeah," he nods in agreement, handing the man the almond-glaze roll he ordered.

"You'll have a good time today," he then turns to tell me excitedly, and I don't miss the quiet snort Peeta lets out as he makes his way back into the kitchen, catching my eyes for a split second as he shakes his head.

"Okay," I reply, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out. Although no one is _looking_ I know the remaining people who sit in the bakery to eat their treats are _watching. _I lean up and place a quick kiss on Rye's cheek, causing his body to stiffen with surprise. He smiles a little as I glance at the floor and then cast him a quick wave of my fingers.

"I'll see you when I get home."

"Have fun!"

* * *

The group is only a half an hour in and already I'm to the point where I catch myself glancing up at the clock every few minutes.

With the new year's Pairing Ceremony and toasting ceremonies just one week away, it seems to be all anyone can focus on and most the girls who sit around me are beside themselves with excitement. I sit quietly, working my needles through the thick brown yarn I use, listening in with amusement as the others continually try one-upping each other.

"Egan already told me he has a surprise planned for me," Sage mentions with a far off smile.

"Does not."

"He does too, Fallon."

"No, I'd be willing to bet he doesn't. That was just some lie to buy him some more time to find you something before next week. If he had a plan, he'd of told you," she snorts, bluntly and I watch Sage's face droop slowly as she takes in her words.

"What does Brent have planned for _you?"_ Delly inquires with a raised eyebrow.

"Well since you asked," Fallon smirks, "Brent's having a new dress made for me... like the kind women wear in the _Capitol_ when they're married."

My eyes meet Lacy and we exchange knowing smiles as the other four girls surrounding us erupt into simultaneous conversation, their voices muffled with one another creating a loud hum of noise.

"There's no way, Fallon."

"Well, unlike Egan, _Brent_ actually took me down to the shop for a fitting and everything. It's going to be white and long and _perfect._ Unlike anything anyone else will be wearing."

"Well, that's just impractical," Sage mumbles, sourly.

"Perhaps, for people who can't afford it. But when I think of toastings, I think _luxury. _A woman deserves to feel special on her toasting day, wouldn't you agree Lacy?"

The groups eyes flit to Lacy and my jaw clenches tightly as Fallon smirks, crossing her legs over one another.

"Yeah, what is Nico doing for _you?" _Nadia chimes, trying to match Fallon's superior posture. It didn't take long for me to figure everyone in the group out, and Nadia is an obvious follower of Fallon.

Lacy focuses on her wooden needles, her lips pursed in a tight line.

"We don't live in the Capitol," she replies evenly, "And here in District Twelve, the toasting ceremony is supposed to be a small, private event shared between a husband and wife. So, I suspect that's exactly what we will have."

Before I can suppress it, laughter bubbles up in my throat, spilling out in a snort. Sage smiles broadly, and Fallon's falls as her eyes cast over to me, dangerously.

"And what about you, _Mrs. Mellark?" _she questions with an arched eyebrow. "It seems as though you have something to add."

Fallon has never had much patience for me. Since my first day attending the group, I've noticed the way her eyes narrow when I speak and jaw clenches whenever she has to interact with me. It was evident that although the Capitol approved of Rye and my pairing that she did not and I've overheard her more than once hiss about how it should be _Madge_ in my seat, not some _dirty Seam girl. _

"If I had something to add, I'd have added it," I reply simply, only causing more tension in the already thick air.

_Forty-five minutes._

"Rye always struck me as the romantic type," Delly says, breaking the silence before her lips purse up in annoyance. "If nothing else you'll surely have the best bread of us all..."

It's such a ridiculous thing to be jealous over that I actually feel myself tense with the effort it takes not to tell her so.

"What the hell ever made you think Rye was a _romantic?" _Fallon prods harshly and I note the way some of the girls exchange glances with one another awkwardly.

It comes as no surprise to me that some of them may have had crushes on him growing up. He's always been fairly social; smooth with his words and a smile that could even sometimes make me melt.

"Just a hunch," Delly shrugs. "Well, isn't he, Katniss?"

"It's a front," Fallon says under her breath and Lacy's needles hit her lap as she lets out a heavy sigh.

"Fallon, you're just bitter because you tried to kiss him at the Harvest festival two years ago and he said _no_," she confesses in a single breath. "Everyone knows."

It's the first time that I've seen Fallon speechless, though her stare towards Lacy is filled with more venom than I've even seen her cast at me.

"I think you've forgotten that I know _your_ secrets too, Lacy," she breathes dangerously. "You might of rethought that comment otherwise."

Lacy picks her needles up, continuing the scarf she's been working on for the past few sessions quietly and Fallon smirks broadly while the rest of us remain quiet.

_Only ten minutes left._

"Katniss, is Peeta still living with Rye and you?" Delly asks after what seems like hours of silence.

It's an odd question, the way it falls from her lips so randomly, as though she's been contemplating asking for a while now. She shifts her eyes, trying to appear nonchalant before cocking her head to one side in question.

"Yes."

"I just can't believe that," she continues as though she knew the answer already. "You're a better woman than me. If Darius was hosting some _defect_ in our house... I... well I don't know what I'd do!"

"He's not some defect, he's his _brother,"_ I reply lowly.

"So? Still defected," Fallon cuts in.

"Doesn't that make it hard... you know, being... _intimate?"_ Nadia asks, whispering her last word and I feel my skin starting to burn with a mixture of mortification and anger.

"It's not like they all sleep in the same room," Sage scoffs before her eyebrows knit together. "Wait... do you?"

"No."

"Thin walls though," Fallon continues before letting out a cynical snicker. "Listening to Rye and Katniss fuck is probably the closest thing he'll ever get to some action."

"Fallon!" Lacy squeals.

"What? It's true."

"You don't have to be so crass."

"Sorry... _make love."_

"_Fallon."_

I keep quiet, glad for Lacy's interjection on my behalf because I know if I allowed myself to speak, whatever came out of my mouth would not be acceptable nor bring Rye any honor, but I can feel my entire body shaking with the effort it takes not to slam Fallon's body into the wall.

"I'm not surprised Peeta wasn't paired though," Delly continues obliviously.

"Well, obviously," Nadia rolls her eyes. "No defected are paired."

"Yeah I know, but... no one _technically_ knows if someone is defected until the Pairings Ceremony. I mean, there were some people I thought _for sure _had mental defections and they were paired."

"_He's missing a leg!" _Nadia emphasizes. "Who in their right mind would want him?"

"The Capitol isn't _that_ cruel," Fallon says, causing both girls to erupt into laughter.

"Can you imagine?"

"Um _no,_ thank you..."

My stomach twists and knots so tightly that I can feel the bile rising in my throat and my shaky hands ball into fists unconsciously as the girls around me continue to cackle and joke at the expense of Peeta. I close my eyes, focusing on breathing through my nose while begging myself to keep calm.

But there's nothing he can even do, no way to defend himself against their attacking words and harsh accusations. I visualize them going home to their husbands, telling them about the _amusing _conversation they had earlier in the day. And their husbands would laugh, in the same cruel way their wives are now, possibly taunting him with their same words the next time they catch him walking through town...

My jaw clenches furiously and the skin surrounding my face feels itchy it's so hot and stinging.

"You know," I breathe without thinking, my voice low... deadly. "I always thought it was shame he wasn't paired. Being so handsome and all."

It takes only half a second for their chatter to silence and as I glance around at their stunned faces, they all hold a tint of confusion mixed with anger or disgust or amusement.

"Wait... _what?"_ Nadia is the first to speak up, her lips twisted down in a tight frown.

"You shouldn't say things like that, Katniss," Delly murmurs, her steady eyes flickering from my face to where my hands quickly pack up the knitting materials. "It's not very respectful."

"Yeah, better be careful or you could be reported," Fallon add smugly and I have to bite back the urge to remind her that _she_ could be reported for what she had tried to do with Rye. But, I've already said too much and I don't want to cause anymore trouble for Lacy than Fallon already has planned.

"What?" I shrug, unable to shake the venom from my voice. "It runs in the Mellark genes."

I don't give them a chance to reply as I'm already headed for the main door. I let it slam behind me - _a very unladylike thing to do - _and can practically hear the comments Fallon is sure to make now.

_Uncultured Seam brat! _

_How was _she_ ever paired with the _bakers son?

I can't help but think that she's lucky I've been paired with him, because if I'd been paired with a boy from the Seam... she'd have already met my fist by now.

* * *

Typically after a knitting session I stop by the bakery to see if there's anything I can help Rye finish up with and walk home with him for the night, but today I continue walking straight past it, through the center of town and towards our house on the other side.

I'll apologize to him later for not coming back, but my head is still spinning, my heart rate still pounding unnaturally in my chest and my urge to _punch something_ is too strong to be around anyone right now.

I want to go into the woods. God, I wish I could, for even just an hour, without worrying about who might see and who might talk and who might tell. I used to have this tree I'd hide out in... it was so round I could never fit my arms even around half of it. Gale and I found it one day when we were running from an animal we'd managed to piss off but neither of us had ever seen before. It reminded me of Prim's cat, Buttercup, only blow up to five times her size and in a much worse mood... something I hadn't known could be accomplished.

It's been almost a year since I've sat in my tree, been free in my woods, or even in my Seam. The very last morning Gale and I went out was that of the pairings ceremony, where we promised one another that we could still be hunting partners and see one another around and maybe my husband could be friends with him and I would enjoy his wife's company...

But of course, things never work out the way you want them to. And now, I haven't seen him or Madge barely once in the past twelve months.

The further past town I get, the further my footsteps grow until I'm basically dragging my feet, kicking at the pebbles and dirt clumps that sit in the path leading up to the house.

I'm surprised when I see Peeta sitting in one of the rocking chairs out front on the deck. He wears a bewildered expression, leaning forward a little more as I make my way up the squeaky steps.

"Hi, Katniss," he greets slowly, "I didn't expect you to be home until later tonight with Rye."

He lets out an awkward cough when I don't respond and continue to pace the length of the porch back and forth, tugging at the roots of my hair in frustration and anger.

"I uh... guess I don't need to ask how group went then?"

"It's better for us both if you don't," I bite, immediately regretting my tone. I'm not trying to be mean to _him._ I'm just mad and unfortunately, he's around to catch the brunt of it.

"Well, if you want to talk about it another time..." he trails off with a shrug. "I can always lend a listening ear."

I stop walking, with my back turned to him and look up towards the wooden overhang on the patio to keep the saturation in my eyes from spilling over. I use the tips of my fingers to wipe them without causing them to get splotchy or puffy and let out a heavy breath through my nose.

I thought the walk home had helped me to calm down a little, but now, standing here in front of him, not being able to explain to him why I'm so furious that I've started to _fucking cry_, only makes my chest tighten more and the blood in my body turn hotter. I swing a kick at nothing, barely skidding the bottom of my shoe along the wood of the porch before letting out a frustrated growl.

"...Katniss?"

I can't respond.

"Did they say something to you?"

"...Yes," I croak, disguising it for a cough immediately after.

Peeta sighs deeply and then grunts as he pulls himself up from his seat, the sound of his crutch tapping against the ground rhythmically as he takes a step forward.

"Look, those girls..." he trails off with a snort. "They're idiots, Katniss. I mean, I seriously think Fallon thinks she _lives in the Capitol."_

I can't stop the smile from spreading to my face with his words and bite my nail to keep from laughing.

"They're bored and mean," he speaks bluntly, his voice growing closer. "But I'd be willing to bet whatever it is they said about you isn't true. Because you're better than all of them. Than any..."

I'm silent, my heart thumping heavily inside of my chest.

"Well... what always helped me was just trying to ignore it," he murmurs.

I bite down on my lip, wrapping my arms around my middle before turning around to face him. He's right in front of me now, with his eyes cast down towards the stub of his crutch. His lips are set in a hard line before he glances up, his eyes boring into my own.

_Those deep blue eyes..._

"It's true," he whispers, because I realize I still haven't responded to him yet. "They can't hurt you if you don't let them... or at least, don't _show _them."

Without warning, I lunge forward, wrapping my arms around Peeta's waist and pressing my cheek into his chest tightly. I can hear his heart rate increasing inside his body. The sweet scent that surrounds him usually is heightened by our proximity and I breathe it in deeply, allowing my eyes to close as I sniffle a little.

Peeta's stiff body slowly melts into the embrace until his large arms encase me, causing my pebbled skin to warm. He rests his head on top of my own as his hand begins to run itself up and down over my back, slowly. The languid movements cause a fire to burn in the pit of my stomach and a shiver to crawl up my spine and instinctively my hand curls around the material of his shirt.

Our bodies rock from side to side, fully relaxed hidden away from public view by the two large trees in front of the porch. But, I don't think I'd even care if someone were to see because I can't remember ever feeling safer than I do right now.

Peeta's body grows rigid next to mine suddenly and his hand on my back freezes. I feel my own tense too and as I cling to the back of his shirt harder he lets out a shaky breath. I chance a glance up at him in confusion and notice the deep crimson color his cheeks have taken on and the way his eyes refuse to land on my own.

"Peeta?"

He closes them with a sigh, almost like he were concentrating, and then, I feel it. And my own cheeks sting.

A year ago, I might have been confused as to what was happening, but now I've been with Rye enough times to know what the hardness pressing against my thigh is. I glance down to where our bodies are molded together and experimentally press my hips into his further. A lightening bolt of electricity courses through my body, pooling between my legs as Peeta lets out a nearly inaudible mewl before immediately pulling back away from me.

"I... I'm so sorry," Peeta jumbles, fiddling with his shirt in a vain attempt to cover over the bulge in his pants.

"It's ok-"

"-I have to go," Peeta interjects, pushing past me with urgency towards the screen door.

"Peeta, wait," I try but he only turns his head in my direction for a split second, his eyes never meeting mine fully but resting to the side of them.

"I'm sorry," he repeats before stumbling into the house.

I don't see him for the rest of the night.

* * *

The morning of the Pairings Ceremony, I sleep in. It surprises me when I roll over on the mattress to find the sun blaring through the open blinds in our bedroom. Rye is still asleep, with half of his face pressed firmly against his pillow and his mouth hanging open as he snores quietly.

The Pairings Ceremony is considered a District Holiday and is one of two where all businesses and schools are obligated under Capitol law to be closed. Yesterday was a _huge _day in the bakery as the eager parents of pairing candidates bought treats for today and newly paired couples prepared for their first-year's toasting ceremony.

Rye, Peeta and I worked all day because of the steady flow of people, even keeping the shop open an extra hour due to the madness. It was exhausting, so I'm pleased to see Rye taking advantage of the quiet day. Unlike Peeta and I, who have days off every week, Rye's sleep-in time is very limited.

I run a hand through his hair, pressing it out from where it dangles over his closed eyelids. Unconsciously, his eyebrows arch slightly at the contact before he lets out a deep snore, digging his face further into his pillow with a sigh.

I slip out from bed without disturbing him with ease, pulling the covers back up over his bare shoulder before stepping into the bathroom to brush my teeth and re-braid my still damp hair from the previous nights shower.

I remember standing in front of the only small mirror in my old house last year, sighing in frustration as my shaky hands messed up my attempt at a simple braid _again. _Mom poked into the room, catching me with my head resting limply in my palms as I rubbed my temples roughly.

"_Let me help," _she offered, running her fingers through my hair until it untangled itself.

"_How am I supposed to be someone's wife when I can't even braid hair?" _I breathe with exasperation, glancing back at her through the mirror as she busily works.

"_Well, chances are he won't examine your hair-braiding skills the first night," _she teases, snickering quietly to herself as she takes in my scowl.

"_You're just nervous," _she soothes, pinning the braid in different spots as she twines it into a bun on the back of my head. _"You're a fantastic braider and will be a fantastic wife."_

"_Katniss!" _Prim squealed as she walked past, taking my hand in her own as she squeezed it tightly. _"Whoever you're paired with will be so lucky. You look beautiful."_

"_Thank you, Prim."_

"_You should use some of my flowers," _she murmurs, holding up the small bouquet of wild flowers she must have picked in the meadow earlier that morning.

"_Here," _she beams proudly, weaving the small yellow and purple flowers through my braid until it was fully decorated.

I thought it looked a little silly, but not wanting to disappoint Prim I wore the flowers in my hair to the ceremony.

Rye loved them. I remember it was one of the first things he said to me, how pretty it looked, as we shyly walked back to his home. And I remember thinking Mother was wrong about my husband examining my braid the first night, as Rye delicately picked each flower from my hair and helped me to unweave it before bed.

As I finish tying my hair back, I think to myself that it might be a good idea to go outside and try to find some similar flowers and replicate the look from last year. That's what you're supposed to do on your toasting day, right? It seems as though all the other girls try their hardest to do something special for their husbands on this day. And I certainly don't want to stand out.

As a merchant citizen, it's not often that I'm able to leave the house in anything other than some sort of dress, so it feels nice when I slip into the old pants I used to wear out in the woods and a plain t-shirt. When I moved in, I'd expected to have to get rid of most of my old clothing. But Rye never made a fuss about it, so I keep them in the bottom drawer of our dresser.

I cough as I step outside and inhale the humid air too quickly. After just a few minutes of being out in the heat I can feel my clothes starting to stick to my skin unnaturally and my breathing come out in heavy pants. When I was younger, I used to hate the colder months, because it made hunting that much harder. This past year was the first time I was ever able to fully appreciate the beauty of the snow and the fun it could bring. And I felt almost guilty, as I thought of all the starving seam children, when I admitted to myself that I liked it better than the summer.

I don't take my time picking the flowers, but rather pluck the first ones I see in the ground so as to do it as quickly as possible. Prim would be the exact opposite, not caring about the temperature as she looked at each delicate petal for the prettiest ones.

I pick only a dozen or so before jogging back to the house, reveling in the cool air as I tiredly close the door behind me. It's embarrassing how weak I've become in only a year...

The house is still quiet when I catch my breath and although I hadn't planned on it, I decide to take a quick shower before Rye wakes up and we have to start preparing for the ceremony.

My skin feels soft and my hair smells like lavender as I towel off, slipping into one of the very first dresses Rye bought me upon my sudden status change. It's a light blue material that buttons fully up the front and ties around my waist. When I mentioned I liked it, he casually informed me that Peeta had actually picked it out on their way home from the bakery that evening. The idea made me blush even though I hadn't been certain why.

I braid my hair again, constantly stopping to ring out extra saturation into the sink, before placing flowers along the length of it. It's different than the bun I wore last year, that was a hairstyle only my mother could perfect, but I think it looks more like me this way.

As I walk back downstairs, I jump a little at the sound of something heavy falling to the ground. In the kitchen I hear Peeta swear in a hiss and as I turn the corner to poke my head in, I watch as he struggles to find a way to pick up the bag of sugar that's dropped and splattered along the tile.

I'm by his side in a moment, bending down to my knees and picking up the large back before setting it on the counter top. I've caught him by surprise, I'm sure, because his eyes widen a little as he watches me, adverting them to the left when I meet his gaze.

"I've got it, Katniss," he speaks, placing both his hands on the countertop before lowering himself with his leg to the ground. "Thanks but... I can do it."

"I don't mind helping," I insist, falling to the ground next to him. "Otherwise I'd just be watching, and that's just rude."

His lips tug up in the corners a little, but fall instantly back into a frown as he scoops up handfuls of sugar, tossing them into the sink above us.

"I swear I'm not as clumsy as you might think," he murmurs. "It's just that Rye always places heavy objects right in the front of the cupboards and they... spill."

"He does that at the bakery, too," I chuckle, pushing a piece of hair back before glancing up towards him. He's still looking down, his blonde mop of curls staring back at me intently. He looks up a moment later, eyeing me for a second before tossing another handful of sugar into the sink.

"I can finish this up," he tells me, his eyes pleading and so I rise from my spot on the ground, watching until he finishes picking up the last bits and pulls himself up, dusting his hands off one final time and reaching out for his crutch's support.

"I was uh... going to make some cinnamon sugar toast. Would you like some? It's a little messy, but I'll give you a napkin so that it won't get on your dress," he says quietly, barely giving me time to answer before he's moving across the kitchen and pulling out a fresh loaf of bread and a knife.

It's then that it occurs to me why his mood differs from what it normally is and my chest tightens a little where my heart lies. The Pairings Ceremony, like the Reaping, is mandatory attendance for all citizens in the districts, unless you are deathly ill. And unlike others, who look on it as a day for celebration and remembrance - it's only a hollow reminder of what can never be for Peeta.

I watch as he cuts through the bread quickly, his arm muscles tightening and eyebrows furrowed as he focuses intently.

"Let me," I speak out of the silence, and Peeta glances back at me with confusion. "And don't say _no."_

"Katni-"

"Ah!" I interject, smiling a little as his defeated expression. "You always make me breakfast. Let me do something for you in return."

"You know I don't mind making things for you," he says.

"I know, and there will be plenty more chances for you to prove that," I say, reaching out for his good arm and pulling on it lightly until he starts moving towards the table. I pull out a chair for him and watch as he slowly lowers himself down into it, seemingly skeptical still.

"Today it's my turn," I finish, melting a little as he smiles up at me shyly.

"I'm not used to this," he chuckles honestly as I lay the pieces of bread down on the stove to toast them.

"I should do it more often, then."

"No," he shakes his head in disagreement.

"You said that a little too quickly," I tease, casting him a mock look of hurt over my shoulder. "You haven't even tried it yet!"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Look, I'll admit I'm not a baker but I have _cooked_ before in my life. And toasting bread is just not that hard."

"Consider it practice for tonight," he says, his tone light like he's trying to make a joke but it falls flat.

I flip them over silently, dabbing a mixture of cinnamon and sugar on top of the buttered and toasted pieces. Peeta doesn't say anything else either and although I want to chance a look at him, I'm too afraid of what I might find written on his face.

When the toast is finished, I flip them onto two plates and walk towards the table, choosing the seat beside him.

"Here you are," I say, pressing the plate in front of him. As he reaches out for it, his fingertips just barely graze mine. When he doesn't immediately retract, I refuse to either and feel that familiar warmth starting to course through my body.

I shift in my seat a little, remembering the other day when we had hugged and I could feel the contraction of his muscles as his arms shifted tighter around me, or the sweet smell that clung to his shirt pressed against my cheek, or how for just a quick moment I could feel his _whole_ body against mine.

Peeta reaches out for the edge of my braid, knocking me back into reality as he experimentally picks it up in his palm and runs his fingers across it. My eyes flit between his hand and his face and I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I start to ache inside of my ribcage and I release it heavily.

"Do you... um... think the flowers are too much?" I ask shakily, completely aware that our fingers are still touching along the side of the plate. Peeta glances up at me, his deep eyes boring into my own, appearing even bluer paired with his rosy pink cheeks.

"No. You look beau-" he cuts himself off, turning a deeper shade of red as he drops his hold on my hair and his fingers break from mine to pick up his piece of toast. "You look... really nice today. I mean, not just today, you look really-"

I place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it a little before dropping it back to my own plate.

"Thank you."

He smiles back at me a little before raising his toast to his mouth and taking a bite.

"Wow, this is actually pretty good," he replies, taking more into his mouth a moment later.

"I love the vote of confidence, Peeta," I tease dryly, taking a bite of my own. And it _is_ good. But it's not the first time I've made toast.

Bread was always a luxury growing up, something we could afford to have only on special occasions like the Harvest Festival and the day of the Reaping Ceremonies. That day, it was always saved for dinner though, because no one felt much like eating before hand. We usually tried to make such a treat last, and the next morning when I'd go hunting I'd always be sure to pick up some berries I knew were safe for eating to mush up and spread across the toast.

Cinnamon, sugar and butter were all luxuries barely anyone in Seam class could afford, no matter what the occasion was.

"You've been holding out on me," he throws back at me. "I'll have to put you to work more in the bakery."

"Making _toast_ is the test for whether or not I'm qualified to work in the bakery?" I snort, "You must really need some help back there."

Peeta laughs, the noise trailing off as we both glance over to the staircase where Rye comes barreling down, taking the corner with a jump. When he catches our gazes he smiles, walking closer into the kitchen.

"Smells delicious in here, Peet," he comments, sticking his head into the refrigerator and I chance a look up at Peeta through my eyelashes, meeting his eyes and smiling broadly before biting my lip as a disguise.

He pours himself a glass of milk, placing it on the table before lowering himself down into the chair next to me, taking in my hair for the first time. Under his scrutiny, I feel as silly as I had last year when Prim had done it, but at least then I had her as an excuse.

"Hey," he beams, his eyes brightening. "You put flowers in your hair."

"Yeah..." I trail off embarrassedly, turning to face him more fully as he takes the careful braid in his hand and runs a fingertip over one of the petals.

"It looks beautiful," he replies, honestly. "Just like last year."

I notice Peeta watching the exchange from his spot on the other side of me, dropping his last bite of toast onto his plate before pushing back on his chair nosily and standing up.

"Where are you off to in such a rush?" Rye asks when Peeta drops his dishes in the sink and starts towards the staircase.

"I have a couple things to do before tonight," he murmurs, his tone holding the same icy-edge to it as earlier. "Plus I figured you two might want some time to yourselves..."

Rye sighs deeply as we watch Peeta disappear upstairs before dropping his grip on my hair and moving back to the kitchen to toast his own piece of bread.

"Don't worry Katniss," I hear him say, though his voice seems far off. It's only then that I realize I'm still staring at the abandoned staircase.

"He'll be okay."

I bite back the urge to inform him that he's already _not._

* * *

By three o'clock the town square has transformed itself to be fit for the annual Pairings Ceremony. The long wooden stage that's only set up this time of year for this and the Reaping is out and has been swept and mopped and our the long banners that hang over the Justice Building announcing us as "District Twelve" are being unfastened.

Just a couple of hours ago, the town square had been dead; everyone inside their houses eagerly preparing for the evening, but now it's lively with action and jammed packed - making the already sticky air feel hotter.

Rye grabs hold of my hand in his as we work our way through, and although I know the gesture is mostly done for looks, I'm grateful for his steady support as we weave through the anxious crowd of people.

Peeta had walked with us up to the village square, but being unpaired, he's not allowed to stand where Rye and I go, along with all the other already paired couples. He also is not allowed to stand with the unpaired candidates, seeing as his fate has already been decided. Rather, he's escorted by the rough hand of a Peacekeeper, who sections him off with Haymitch Abernathy and the other ancient-looking men and women who have been labeled _defected. _

Although I knew this would be his fate, as I had seen the others assemble there year after year, there is something quite different about imagining it and _seeing it. _And seeing Peeta standing there, unsure of himself, looking at the ground to avoid the harsh stares of everyone who looks down on him _hurts._

"A lot less pressure this year, huh?" Rye leans down to mumble in my ear. I can only nod, sure he wouldn't be able to hear me over the crowd's rumble anyway. He senses my stillness though, and wraps his arm around my shoulder, patting it lightly, almost sympathetically before allowing it to rest there.

"Katniss!"

My head turns from left to right, trying to locate the voice calling out for me. I can't place it, but my heart starts beating rapidly anyway until my eyes land on Madge just a few couples behind where Rye and I stand.

The long blonde hair she used to wear in pin curls is now pulled back into a simple bun and her expensive town-crafted dresses have been turned in for a gray cotton dress with delicate cap-sleeves. It's most likely a newer purchase - one to be worn only on special occasions for years to come. But her smile is one that's unable to be missed as she beams excitedly, waving her hand a little in a 'hello.'

I tug on Rye's arm a little, not stopping to explain before I pull us closer to where Madge and Gale stand. I break free from Rye and wrap my arms around Madge with excitement, only then realizing that I've never actually hugged her before...

And that she's pregnant.

"I'm so glad yo see you," she mumbles into my hair, squeezing me tighter against the small curve of her belly before pushing me back to look me over.

"Look at you!" she cackles. "I never thought I'd see Katniss Everdeen looking so... _merchant!"_

"And look at you," I say, trying to keep the same enthusiasm in my tone as I glance down at her swollen belly. "You're... pregnant."

"First one," she smiles. "We started a little late, but we were just enjoying our time together so much and as I'm sure you can imagine, it's quite the adjustment."

"Sure," I mumble, absently.

"I don't understand how these girls can do it! Pregnant in two weeks. Gale and I wanted to be a little more stable with everything before starting on our family. Within reason, of course," she laughs a little, leaning back to wrap an arm around Gale.

_Gale._

A year has changed him greatly and the young boy I grew up with and played in the confines of the woods is gone. He's definitely grown some since I've last seen him and I now need to crane my neck to look him in the eyes. His shoulders have broadened from work inside of the mines and the scruff he was trying to desperately to grow last year now outlines his jaw and cheeks heavily.

"Hello, Catnip," he grins, snickering to himself as I roll my eyes at the old childhood nickname.

"I see some things never change," I joke, falling into his open arms, and it's true. He still smells of the same musk and fresh air combination, still laughs deeply the same as the last time I saw him.

_He's still Gale, _I think, relieved. _Just not _my_ Gale. _

But was he ever really? Is anything ever _ours_ in District Twelve? From the time we met I knew there was no possibility of it being just the two of us forever. The Capitol bases its pairs on differences just as much as it does similarities. And Gale and I together... we just had too much fire. What we both needed were people to balance our flames, and that's exactly what we got.

There's a million things I want to say to them, questions I want to ask and stories I want to share, but before I can mutter another word Effie Trinket - our District's Escort - is up on stage, tapping the mic impatiently to gather everyone's attention.

I turn back to Madge who winks a little and grabs my arm, telling me we'll catch up for a minute afterwards. I nod before turning forward and sighing deeply, my lips pressed into a hard line. Rye's rough hand snakes into mine and he gives it such a gentle squeeze it can be nothing but reassuring. When I chance a glance up at him, his eyes are soft with understanding and he offers me a half-hearted smile.

"It'll be okay," he mouths with a wink and I squeeze his hand harder in mine.

_So much for less pressure..._

"Welcome, welcome!" Effie's obnoxious shrill rings out through the silent square and I remember as kids Gale and I used to make fun of her silly Capitol accent. "District Twelve, it is my pleasure to announce the start of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Pairings Ceremony!"

We clap in a way that does not meet Effie's expectations and her bright smile diminishes slightly before she catches herself, looking into the camera that is broadcast directly to the Capitol for President Snow himself to watch.

Surrounding Effie is a wall of Peacekeepers, all dressed in the same white uniforms with visors covering their heads and making their eyes difficult to see.

"Without further ado" Effie continues. "Lets welcome this years Pairing Candidates!"

It's a fairly long and tedious process, going through every citizen who has been matched with their best possible pairing, much longer than the Reaping Ceremony ever lasts. The crowd is more alert, eager in the beginning, but as the names continue to be rattled off, the clapping slowly dies and bodies begin to droop in the heat. This year is no different.

Although at eighteen you are officially eligible for the pairings roster and by law are required to apply, there is no guarantee that you will be paired _at_ eighteen. Pairing Candidates range anywhere from eighteen to twenty-eight years old. If you are not paired by twenty-eight, you are labeled as a defected one, though, I've never seen it actually happen.

There is a pair out there for _most._

Although I was eighteen when Rye and I were paired, he was already twenty-one, as was Lacy's husband, Nico.

The Capitol did not wait until Peeta was twenty-eight to officially label him as a defect because in their eyes, there is no hope for him. He cannot magically grow a leg and therefore is unnecessary and a hinderance on the careful reproduction plan that the Capitol has created.

My stomach lurches at the word, a stern reminder that Rye and I should already be pregnant by now...

_Why is it not working?_

"Leevy Shaw."

My head snaps up at the familiar name, because I grew up with Leevy Shaw. She's a few years older than me, around Rye's age, but I used to follow her around as a kid and she helped me trade down at Sae's place a few times after my father died and I was scared to go alone.

It's easy to pick her out of the crowd as the group surrounding her slowly starts to pull away until there's a wide empty space between them and her.

The square grows more silent, if possible.

"Leevy, what are you doing?" I hear Rye hiss behind his clenched teeth, but I can't turn to look up at him, or grip his hand with any less pressure. All I can do is stare at the scene unfolding before me in horror.

"_Leevy Shaw," _Effie announces again, her usual bubbly voice more strained with the repeat. "Come on up here, dear."

My eyes dart between Effie and Leevy and a dull murmur rolls over the square as she makes no move to come forward, staring back at Effie wildly in defiance. With my mind trailing off in so many directions, I've missed who she's been paired with and search the opposite end of the stage until my eyes land on _him._ And my heart drops into my stomach.

Ethan Caverly.

He holds an uncanny resemblance to his brother, from his stocky and intimidating build to the deep brown spiked hair to the menacing smirk that rests easily on his lips.

"No."

The quiet one-worded answer comes from Leevy, whose back is still facing me. At her sides, her hands are balled into fists, but I don't miss the way her whole form is shaking. She's the first I've ever seen to act out this way. No one has ever dared to defy the Capitol, especially in such a public setting.

It's as if she's planned it.

Effie is rendered speechless - for the first time ever, I believe - and unbelieving gasps can be heard scattered around the square.

"Leevy please!" I hear her mother call for her, and her arm is outstretched as she fights to get to her daughter's side, but her husband holds her back solemnly.

"No?" Ethan finally says, his voice booming. "Not a great way to start off our marriage, sweetheart."

Ethan is one year younger than Rye and Nico and Leevy, but I'd be willing to bet he's even bigger than his brother. I see his muscles clench as he cracks his knuckles with his large palms, all traces of humor wiped clean from his face replaced with pure anger.

"I will _never _marry you! You are not my pairing!" Leevy continues, taking a step backwards as four Peacekeepers start to make their way towards her.

With nowhere for her to go, she holds her ground until they grip her tightly and then it's as if the life has been sucked right out of her as her body goes limp and she collapses to the ground.

One of the more strict Peacekeepers here in Twelve, Cray, knots his hand around Leevy's long and thick hair, pulling her up to her feet by it as the other two bind their large hands around her thin arms. Leevy cries out, kicking and thrashing her body as they escort her to the stage.

They throw her down roughly so that she lands on her hands and knees and I can see her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath.

"The Capitol only owns you if you let them," she hisses out. "And I _won't."_

"Shut up!" Cray demands in a warning, pulling the gun that's so rarely used from his hoister.

Rye wraps an arm around me and it's only then I realize that my arms are wound tightly around his middle, squeezing the material of his shirt in my balled hands.

"I know my pairing... and it's _not_ Ethan Caverly!"

Enraged, Ethan grabs hold of her, slapping her hard across the face. By now, Effie has fled the stage, hiding behind the protection of two Peacekeepers as mayhem breaks out along the stage. Cray and another one of his men take back their hold of Leevy and start to escort her away into the Justice building.

"Isaac!" she calls out, twisting her body around and reaching a hand out for him.

All eyes advert to the man who stands among the crowd that had backed away from Leevy during her outburst. His head is twisted down, eyes cast away from hers and he stays silent.

"I love y-" the doors to the Justice Building have not even closed before a single gunshot fires, lingering in the air.

Madness breaks out in the square instantly. People chaotically bump and push past one another, screaming out as they try to flee. There's crying too, loud moans of agony that come from somewhere off in the distance.

Rye presses my face into his chest, holding me as close to his body as possible while people knock into us in their haste. We do not move. It's only when Rye runs a reassuring hand over my back and soothes me with calm words that I realize my breathing comes out in hiccuping gasps and my vision blurs.

_Peeta. _My mind suddenly thinks, and my body grows rigid. _Where is Peeta?_

"He's okay," Rye answers, and it's only then that I realize I've asked out loud. "I can see him. He's okay."

I nod a little, trusting him because I've shut my eyes and refuse to open them.

Not until the badness is gone.

* * *

Rye sits out on the porch with me until the royal blue sky finally fades into blackness. The sticky air from today has not lingered with night fall and occasionally a cool breeze will pass us by, causing goosebumps to rise over my arms.

After Rye assured me that Peeta was okay today in the square, I was engulfed in a sea of blackness, unable to remember much of anything until I woke up in bed. My hair was unbraided and on the table next to me was a neat pile of tiny flowers.

Although it was fairly quiet through the house, I could hear the distant sound of a dishes hitting one another and the strong scent of something good cooking. I ran my face under cool water, helping to diminish the redness that blotched around my eyes and the dried tear streaks that ran down my cheeks.

Even though I was sure I wouldn't ever be able to eat again after this afternoon, by the time I creeped downstairs for dinner I was ravenous and my stomach growled loudly as I took in all the sweet smells with anticipation. We had stew with salt potatoes and rolls for dinner, something Rye had been planning special for quite some time for what was supposed to be a nice evening.

And that's how we ended up here on the porch, rocking back and forth in silence. I wonder how the evening turned out for everyone else. I think about Fallon and Brent, who did not know Leevy and probably believe she deserved what punishment she received. Or Nico, who might be so angry from the embarrassing display his brother's "supposed-to-be" wife that he takes it out harsher than normal on Lacy.

Then I think about Leevy's family and how awful I felt to wake up and realize what had happened was not a dream, and how they are going to continue to have that feeling every time they wake for years to come.

I never knew Isaac and I wonder how long ago the two of them started to see each other in secrecy. Has it been only a few months? A couple of years?

What will happen to him now?

"What are you thinking about?" Rye finally asks, looking up at the millions of stars that shine brightly.

"Isaac," I mumble and Rye's lips press into a hard line.

"Yeah," is all he says.

"...Do you think he loved her?"

"Yes," Rye says again.

"Then why didn't he do something? She called out for him! She wanted him to save her and he wouldn't even look at her!"

"It's not always that easy, Katniss. If he had gone after her, then they'd both be dead."

"But to stand there and do nothing? Just turning the blind eye-"

"-Sometimes, that's all you can do," he says, his tone rougher, almost defensive.

I'm quiet and our chairs squeaking against the wood of the porch are the loudest noises to be heard.

I've always thought of District Twelve as being a more lenient District. Our Peacekeepers, for the most part, have turned the blind eye to a lot of the illegal activities that go on - even going as far as to _buy_ some of the illegal game that Gale and I have dragged back from the forrest.

But today was a whole new side of the Peacekeepers I'd grown accustomed to and I wonder if things would have happened the same way if the Pairing Ceremony was not being broadcast directly to President Snow. Most likely. There has not been a public execution in District Twelve in all of the years that I've been alive, and then some. But today it was different. It was her head, or theirs.

And it's enough to get me thinking about myself, and the greater need I now have for being more careful. How many defiant things have I tossed out carelessly? I think back to knitting group, when Fallon had threatened to report me, or how Peeta's words to me that night we sat outside together and I said that Rye was not my husband by choice...

"_Katniss, never say that again. Don't ever let anyone else hear you say that again. Promise?" _

How dangerous my words have been. And now, with no baby on the way _still... _will the Capitol use my words said in the heat of the moment against me?

"I'm sorry," Rye says quietly. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's been a long day," I agree, letting out a tired yawn.

"Are you ready for bed?"

"We still haven't done our toasting."

"Katniss, I know today has been hard for you," he speaks evenly. "I was positive it was the last thing on your mind. We don't have to do it tonight if you don't want to..."

_We have to._

"I want to," I promise, forcing the best smile I can muster to my lips. "It will be a good way to end the day."

Rye smiles a little too.

"Okay."

I wait by the fire, adding a couple of ripped sheets of paper to the burning wood while Rye prepares the bread.

There is no law saying a toasting must take place, but it is something that all couples are expected to partake in. And if word got out that Rye and I did not... I do not wish to know what trouble that might lead to.

Rye returns from the kitchen with a small plate in his hands. He passes it to me as he lowers himself to the ground and grabs two sticks, handing me one. We each take a small cube of the bread and pierce it with the end of our sticks before allowing them to sit under the heat of the fire. The wood beneath it cracks and hisses loudly in protest as Rye occasionally adjusts its position before we pull our pieces away and blow on them gently.

"You did good," he smiles, almost nervously. "Mine's sort of burnt. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I chuckle a little, pulling my piece off from the stick and holding it with my forefinger and thumb. He copies the movement with his own piece before extending his arm out towards me. We bite into each other's pieces, chewing slowly as we watch one another swallow.

And then it's over.

"We did it," I whisper after a long stretch of silence.

"Are you happy with me?"

"Wh-what?"

"Are you happy," he says again. "Being here with me. Being... paired with me?"

"Of course," I answer immediately, honestly, because in perspective, Rye is one of the best spouses I could have hoped to be paired with. And if my spouse had to be chosen for me, I am glad that it's him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Anxiety wells in the pit of my stomach as my mind runs through possible reasons he might have to be bringing this up. Has he noticed the way Peeta and I interact with one another? Did he hear me say that I am not his wife by choice?

The last thing that I want to do is hurt Rye.

He shrugs indifferently, "I was just wondering. After... well everything."

He pauses for a tense moment.

"You weren't... scared of me... when we were paired, right?"

"Rye..."

"It's just... I see these guys and they treat their wives like-" he cuts off with the shake of his head. "I never want you to feel like I don't _want_ you because I didn't _pick_ you."

I push myself up onto my knees, scooting over to where he sits and place a hand over his which rests on his thigh. He looks up, studying me carefully before his large eyes droop to a close as my lips graze his.

"I am the happiest I can possibly be with you," I tell him truthfully and I watch as the corners of his lips turn up a little bit. I lean in to kiss him again and his hands press themselves against my face, very lightly running his fingertips across my cheeks.

He breaks away with a deep exhale and immediately begins to paint kisses across my jawline down to the side of my neck where his tongue flicks out experimentally over the pulse point.

"We should... go upstairs," I gasp, knotting my hands through his hair and he nods a little in agreement before pushing himself up from on top of me and holding a hand out for me to take.

We walk down the hallway upstairs to our bedroom at the end of it and I notice the shut door which leads to Peeta's. Underneath the small crack at the bottom is darkness and I silently hope that he is asleep.

When the door shuts, Rye immediately begins working the buttons of my dress until it slides down my shoulders, leaving me in only my undergarments. I work the buttons of his shirt as well, helping to pull it down off of him as he quickly discards the t-shirt he wears underneath it.

I'm sure the scene from earlier must be replaying in Rye's mind, because he wears the same sense of urgency in his expression that I feel welling inside of me.

_Don't think about it, _I say sternly to myself. It will not help anything to get stressed over something that has not even happened yet. All it will do is hinder what needs to be done.

And we're running out of time.

Within the next few months, people will begin to wonder why we have not started to have children yet. And the more people talk, the more likely news is to get back to the Peacekeepers, who are then obligated by law to contact the Capitol about our defiance to abide to their regulations.

And who knows what might happen after that.

"Katniss," Rye murmurs against my skin, his hands unhooking the hinges that hold my bra in place. "You're not breathing."

"I'm sorry," I whisper and his movements still.

"Maybe what you need right now is some sleep," he urges gently and I pull him closer to me, unwilling to let go.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I-I'm fine. I'm sorry."

Rye gives me a disbelieving look, his eyebrows raised slightly as his eyes bore into mine, looking for any trace of a lie. I stand my ground, looking deeply back at him and allowing my hands to trail down the clenching muscles of his stomach.

"What I need right now is _you," _I breathe out honestly and his eyelids slowly lower themselves in time with my hand moving further down until it rests over the bulge in his pants. He exhales shakily as I palm him for a moment before working his belt buckle free and tugging the material until it pools at his ankles.

He steps out from them, kicking his socks off with his feet before pulling me down onto the bed beside him, our lips crashing onto each other's roughly. I'm well aware of the old bed post hitting against the wall as we adjust on the mattress and have to fight to fend off any thoughts that don't circle around this moment _right now._

He wastes no time positioning himself at my entrance and I tug impatiently at the roots of his hair as he glides the tip of his erection over my swollen clit. I feel my lips part further open as he continues his tease and my hips start to buck up towards him furiously until he finally slips inside of me.

"Shit," he groans, stretching me the further he goes. "Ugh. You're so wet, Katniss."

"Please Rye," I gasp as he moves back and forth languidly. _"Faster."_

He obliges immediately, his hips picking up a steady rhythm that makes me cry out involuntarily as he plunges deeper inside of me. I watch his teeth clamp down on his bottom lip and he throws his head back in ecstasy before my eyes roll back into their sockets.

My legs wrap themselves around his hips, urging him to press further into me as my hand claws its way along his smooth back, the other twisting up in the sheets below us.

"_Oh fuck," _he breathes out, his whole form shaking with pleasure. He drops his head so that our foreheads are pressed against each other's and I can feel his breath commingling with my own as we pant from exertion.

"I can't last much longer," he warns, pressing his lips to mine for just a moment before he cries out with a long groan.

"Me... _either!" _I gasp as his hips start to move impossibly faster against my own. They pick up their irregularity, signaling to me how close he is and I watch as his face contorts into a look of intense pleasure and feel him finish inside of me. He continues to thrust through his orgasm, and the coarse hairs that pepper the flesh around the base of his penis graze over the hood of my clit repeatedly until I feel myself coming undone underneath him.

We stay connected for a long time, until he grows soft inside of me and our heartbeats slow back to normal. He pushes back the sticky hairs that cling to the back of my neck and forehead and I run a hand over his flushed cheeks.

And neither of us mention anything about _a baby_.

* * *

"Not pregnant."

"How is that possible?" I demand in frustration, jumping up from my spot in the wooden chair and charing forward towards my mother. I look down at the wand in her hand - technology from the Capitol to accurately test the likelihood of pregnancy that only healers are allowed to keep - and see the red _negative_ sign flashing on the screen.

"This is bullshit!" I sneer, snatching it from her grip and throwing it into the garbage can. "How accurate can something you have to _pee on_ be?"

"Katniss, _please," _Mother insists, rubbing her temples. "I'm sorry, but these tests are nearly one-hundred percent effective. You know how the Capitol is..."

_I know._

"You're not pregnant."

"Well that's not exactly an option now, _is it?" _I grit out, my body stiffening when I feel her hand land on my shoulder.

"Perhaps today was not the best day for this," she says and I follow her gaze to where Prim sits obliviously in the living room, her head resting in her cupped palms, back arched up like Buttercup when you scratch her.

Today is Prim's last reaping, and although the odds have been in her favor thus far, it does not mean that they can't possibly fail her now. After all, they had been in Bannock's favor as well...

Although I do not wish being reaped on anyone, it just cannot happen to my little sister. She's too gentle... too pure...

And maybe that's part of my problem. Although I've done well to suppress it and have tried hard not to think about it, I could only go on for so long until it caught up with me and _exploded. _

There's just so much pressure. So many requirements. So many things to be scared of...

"I'm sorry," I sigh, gripping the countertop as I slump a little. "I just don't know what to do."

And with no explanation as to why, the answer _not pregnant_ is starting to get to me. What more can we do? We've tried _everything_ and still there's no baby? Just one. Of course to have as many as possible is ideal but just _one_ is all that is required.

"Have you ever considered..." she trails off, as if she wishes she could take back the words, but I'm already staring back at her intently, waiting for her to finish, willing her to.

"What?" I snap when she just continues to stare.

"...Well_.._ there's a _small_ possibility that either you or Rye are... unable..." she trails off and her eyes focus past me, to the arch leading into the small living room. When I turn, Prim is standing there, her usually beaming face taunt with worry and hands jittering at her sides.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, her eyebrows arched downward in question.

"Nothing important," I say quickly, before Mother has the chance to interject. I move across the room to where she stands and tuck in the back of her white shirt which has fallen out the top of the navy hand-me-down skirt I gave to her a few years ago.

"You look beautiful," I say to her, clasping both of her cheeks in my palms and kissing her forehead. "The day will be over before you know it."

"Yeah," Prim grumbles. "Move from one trial to the next."

It's not in Prim's nature to be so pessimistic. I watch carefully as she skids her feet across the ground dejectedly, moving towards the kitchen to sit at one the chairs set up around the small table.

"Let's get through today first, alright?" I suggest, pulling at the roots of her long hair before sectioning it off to braid back the way she likes it. She doesn't protest as I continue to brush through it and I watch as her eyes tilt shut.

The morning is still fairly early, though it seems like it should be later since I've been here since sunrise. Sleep had not come easy for Rye or I last night and each of the several times I flipped around in bed, I caught his watery eyes wide open in the reflection of the moonlight.

He crept up out of bed early this morning, unable to enjoy sleeping in like he had the morning of the Pairings Ceremony, but I pretended to still be sleeping as I heard him shut our bedroom door gently.

As I passed the bakery to make my way down to the Seam, I noticed him inside, banging a hardened lump of dough against the countertop before he could begin kneading it.

"There you are," I say, my voice coming out somewhat groggy before I clear it. "Perfect."

"Thank you," Prim murmurs, running her hands down the back of her head to feel the french pigtails.

"Did you eat anything?" I ask casually and Prim casts a glance over her shoulder at me with a scowl.

"Did _you_ eat anything?" she challenges and when I only roll my eyes she rests her case with the turn of her head. I watch as she busies herself around the kitchen; plucking the drooping flowers from the vase full on the table, scrubbing down some of the dishes left over from the previous night and finally pulling her shoes over her feet, tying and re-tying the laces before brushing herself off with a deep sigh.

"Well, I don't want to be late," she says with a shrug. "You know how prompt Ms. Trinket always is."

I snort, slipping on my own pair of shoes - shiny black flats, much different from the hunting boots I'd grown accustomed to wearing everywhere - and holding the door open for her to walk through.

The air is warm, but not nearly as humid as it had been the day of the Pairings Ceremony. The sun feels nice against my skin rather than sticky and uncomfortable. This type of heat I don't mind.

"As soon as the ceremony is over, I'll find you, okay?" I whisper to Prim reassuringly as we approach the busy square and her hand slips tightly into my grip. She nods sharply, as if she hadn't really heard me and continues focusing squarely ahead until we approach the point where I can no longer accompany her.

She grabs hold of me tighter, burrowing her head into my chest when my arms wrap around her body and I give her a solid squeeze.

"Be brave," I encourage, swallowing back the sob that threatens to rise in my throat. "One more Reaping. That's all, right? In a few hours, this will all be over."

"Yeah," she breathes in agreement, no longer agitated but simply_ frightened. _I imagine holding onto my own children one day, prettying them up with their nicest clothing and braided hair, spewing forth empty promises of their safety before sending them over to the slaughter.

"You have to go now," I urge, noticing the way the Peacekeepers eyes flit to her or how the line of potential tributes being lead into the main area of the square is diminishing. "I'll be right here waiting, afterwards."

"Okay," she nods a little following the gruff instructions of the Peacekeeper who accompanies her to the check-in table set up along the perimeter of the square. I watch until she makes her way inside, waving one last goodbye to me before disappearing into the crowd of nervous children.

Peeta and Rye find me before I have a chance to find them, calling me over to where they stand and positioning me in-between their sturdy bodies. Although attendance is mandatory - just like with the Pairings Ceremony - I'm surprised to see Rye willing to stand so deep within the crowd. I'd thought for sure he'd want to stand more along the outskirts to get away as quickly as possible afterwards.

He doesn't offer up his typical friendly greeting and continues to stare stonily ahead with his arms crossed over his middle gruffly, almost as if he hadn't noticed I'm here at all. His mood comes as no surprise to me. It's been growing steadily worse over the past couple of days and just like Prim, I watched his normal happy-go-lucky attitude diminish into intimidating silence.

At first, I wished there was something that I could do as a help. I tried putting myself in his shoes, thinking of anything that might cheer him up. It didn't take long before I realized any such attempts were only futile. And if it _had_ been me in his situation, and Prim had died a cruel and unfair death at the hand of the Capitol, I don't think anything would be able to cheer me up either.

So instead I give him what he seems to desire the most...

_Space._

"Welcome District Twelve to the Seventy-Fourth Annual Reaping Ceremony!" Effie's voice shrills through the square, causing me to jump. I hadn't even seen her approach the stage. "Happy Hunger Games and may th-"

Her words blur as background noise as the hand to my left casually brushes itself over my forearm. I glance down as the my skin pebbles with the contact and see Peeta's hand quickly float back to his side. When I glance up, his eyes are focused in on mine, eyebrows knit together in question.

"You okay?" he breathes with concern, his body barely bending over.

Effie's voice continues to belt out through the microphone throughout the silent square and I wince a little at its unnatural pitch before nodding unconvincingly towards Peeta. His frown deepens as he continues to study me, possibly stuck in the same situation I had been with Rye where he can't seem to find the right thing to say.

I shrug a little, trying to appear calm and confident although I can feel the cracks in my exterior beginning to show. I face forward towards the large monitors which showcase potential tributes waiting to be reaped and lean up on my tip-toes in search of Prim.

"Well, let's not waste time, shall we? I know you all must be very anxious as to whom this year's competitors are. Ladies first!"

I inhale louder than I intend, breaking the eery silence that surrounds us and pulling Peeta's attention back in my direction. Through the corner of my eye I watch him watching me and it's then I notice I've begun to shake.

Just barely, I feel the tip of his finger graze over the back of my palm, so gently it could easily be mistaken for an accident. But then he does it again, slowly hooking his pinkie finger around mine in a small gesture of reassurance. I wish I could reach out and take his whole hand into my own, but having just this small touch, this one bolt of electricity, is enough to help sturdy my posture and feel calmness rushing over me.

The girl's name is called followed almost immediately by that of the boy. They're both Seam class - something that comes as no big shock - and seem as small and frail as most of the twelve year olds even though they are both sixteen.

_But it is not Prim._

Peeta's finger squeezes mine tighter and I'm not sure if I want to vomit or cry or laugh and spin around...

But Prim is finally _safe._

* * *

I found Prim directly following the ceremony, just as I promised, but was unable to stay long and talk with her as I could already see Rye disappearing for home in the distance. She needed no further explanation, telling me to go and promising to stop into the bakery later on this week.

She had no idea how good it felt to hear those words, because just a few hours ago the prospect of never seeing her again was a very real one.

I caught up with Rye halfway down the path and teasingly asked why he had not waited for me, he claimed to have thought that I would want to go back to the Seam with Prim and my mother for a little while. When we arrived at the dark house, he wandered around a bit as if he was unsure of what he wanted before finally wrapping his arms around me in a tight and quick embrace.

"I'm happy your sister is okay," he murmurs. "I was really hoping that would be the case."

"Thank you," I say, giving him a final squeeze before pulling away. He lingered by my side for a minute, shifting on his feet uneasily. I asked if there was anything I could make for him for dinner but he quickly insisted he was not hungry.

"If you don't mind... I think I might go and lay down for a little while," he says, running his hands over his face tiredly.

"Okay," I say, looking him over nervously. It's not that I didn't trust him but more that I could relate too much to how he was feeling. After my father died, I went through the same mixed emotions I can see in his eyes now, and there were times when I definitely did not trust myself to be alone.

"I'm fine," he assures me, picking up at the hinting in my eyes. "I just... I think I need to be alone."

"Okay," I repeated, casting him the most reassuring smile I could muster. He tried to replicate it, but it only clung to his lips for a split second before drooping back down into a heavy frown.

That was several hours ago and the sky has since turned from pale blue to pink and pink to black which now encases the entire sky.

Rye is not the only one who's disappeared, as I have not seen Peeta since I lost him at the Reaping to go find Prim. I figured he'd come straight home from town, but the house was quiet when Rye and I approached and when I went to place fresh towels in the bathroom he typically uses, the door to his bedroom sat open, completely dark inside.

I stand over the oven, unsure of myself as I toast a couple pieces of bread and dice up some fresh pepper and onion to scatter over the top for dinner. It's the type of dinner Rye or Peeta might laugh at, definitely not something commonly enjoyed by Merchants, but it's not typical that I'm left to my own devices in the Mellark kitchen and the further the night grows the more fatigue starts to creep up on me.

It's the first night in weeks that I might actually sleep well. Between the Leevy scene replaying through my mind each time I closed my eyes and nightmares of Prim being reaped haunting my sleep, I've been lucky if I've gotten a full hour's sleep...

Interchanging thoughts of Bannock and Leevy and Prim swirl around in my mind, causing me to grip the edge of the countertop for balance as the world starts to tilt and spin.

"Is something burning in here?"

I barely register the voice as Peeta's, it sounding so distant behind the thrumming of my heart in my eardrums. I turn slowly, trying to steady my eyes as I see multiples of him smiling at me through the doorway. He gives a little laugh, the sound echoing throughout the room before willing himself to move closer towards me.

"What the hell is that?" he asks, pointing down at the two pieces of toast that sit on a plate in front of me.

"Dinner," I barely spit out.

"Oh, that's just sad, Katniss," he chuckles, oblivious to the way my chest starts to constrict tightly. "You know we still have leftovers in the fridge, right?"

It's a challenge as I try to swallow back the sob I feel rising in my throat and curse silently as my vision grows blurry with saturation. Frustration wells up on top of the hundreds of other emotions bubbling to the surface as I try fending off the tears, but the more I fight it, the heavier they continue to fall down my cheeks.

Peeta glances up at me with a playful smile which quickly melts away into a look of horror as he stands up straighter, no longer leaning on his crutch for support.

"I was just kidding," he promises softly and gives off no sign of protest as I fall into his chest, wrapping my arms around his middle tightly.

He's quicker to encase me in his arms this time, but I still don't miss the hesitancy in his movements, as if he's not positive he's doing it right. It makes me think about how little interaction Peeta has actually had with others throughout his life.

I remember back in elementary school, during recess some of the kids would play a game where one kid was 'the defect' and the others had to run away while the kid chased them all. If they caught someone, they too were defected and had to help catch more non-defected children.

It seemed innocent enough at the time, and I remember even engaging in a couple games of it myself, but as time went on and we grew older, kids would still move to the other side of the hallway when Peeta walked by, or clean off the desk after he left, afraid to touch what he had touched _just in case._

I cling to him harder, shutting my eyes tightly as more tears fall down the side of my cheek and soak the front of his shirt.

"Shhh," Peeta coos, rubbing his hand along my back soothingly. "Katniss, what's wrong?"

I start talking about my nightmares immediately, embarrassed by the way my words come out in short gasps and hiccups as I try catching my breath. I feel my hands shaking around the balled-up material of his shirt as I dig myself into him further, unable to get close enough, _craving_ more.

He smells so different from Rye; comforting, almost like home and _so warm._ I feel the tip of his chin rest against my head and when he exhales through his nose his breath tickles the part on my scalp.

"I'm sorry," I say softly once the tears have subsided. I've lost track of how long we've been standing here with one another, but my toast is cold and hard and any trace of daylight left over has disappeared. My skin feels clammy as leftover beaded tears cling to my cheeks.

"Why are you apologizing?" he hums.

"I shouldn't be unloading this on you," I explain guiltily. Peeta is under no obligation to listen to my problems, but I can't shake the feeling that it makes it all the more special that he has...

"Katniss, I like listening to your problems," he admits, and then stiffens a little. "I don't mean that I like that you have problems, I just mean that... I definitely don't mind listening to you talk and... helping you."

I laugh at his nervousness, shaking both of our bodies with the movement before pulling apart from him a little to look up at his face.

"I'm always here to listen to you," he promises with a shy smile. "Plus, I know Rye hasn't been much help lately."

"I can't expect him to be," I say back. "With all he's going through, the last thing he should be worried about is me."

"I'm worried about you," Peeta says quietly, pink tinting his cheeks. Small and scattered freckles paint themselves randomly across the bridge of his nose and upper cheeks, something I had never noticed about him before.

But I've never been this close to him before.

I have the sudden urge to run my hand through the mop of blonde curls that look so _soft _and dangle over his forehead between his eyes. My hand twitches from its spot, still resting on his forearm, because I know I should not.

But I am tired of denying myself him.

His eyes flit between my moving hand and my eyes as I raise it to his forehead and slowly slide it back until I've pushed all the hair away from his face. It's softer than Rye's and feels nice between the creases of my fingers as I rake my nails over his scalp in a light massage.

Peeta's darkening eyes bore into mine, holding my gaze until he lets out a soft and stuttered sigh. His flushed cheeks glow brighter and he turns his head away from mine quickly in the direction of my arm and accidentally his lips brush against my wrist.

We freeze and the skin that is still dangerously close to his mouth feels burning hot.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quietly, his breath still ragged as his eyes fall closed. He makes no move away from me, and I stay frozen with my hand still in his hair. My fingers twitch a little and he notices, opening his heavy eyes a little to glance down at me, as if looking for permission.

I stare back at him intently, watching as he slowly but purposely presses his lips back against my wrist, letting them pause there for a split second before pulling away.

And then my lips are on his.

He stiffens in surprise as my arm wraps itself around his neck, pulling him down to meet where I stand on the tips of my toes. I faintly hear the sound of something falling to the ground and a moment later Peeta's hand reaches out for the counter for support.

It's not until now that I realize exactly how long I've been waiting to do this with him and how much tension has built between the two of us. I'm _greedy_ for him, unwilling to break apart for even a breath as I prod his lips with my tongue for entry. He opens eagerly, groaning as his entire body shakes, unnaturally and he clings to me harder. I will one of my eyes to open and see the his crutch lying on the floor out of his reach.

He lets out another sound of protest when I pull away to pick it up and holds a look of chagrin to his face as I hand it to him, watching as he slips it under his arm.

"Always in the way," he tries breathlessly, his lips swollen from my attack on them.

"The couch is more comfortable anyway," I say and his ears flush with color at the hint of suggestion in my tone.

"Oh uh-okay," he agrees, trailing behind me slowly as I lead the way into the living room.

I waste no time pushing him back into the middle of the couch and falling down beside him, immediately resuming our actions. It comes easier this time, more natural, and Peeta's lips don't feel so tense against my own.

His arm lands on my back, his fingers caressing my skin experimentally and he lets out a small yelp as my hand trails down his chest, dangerously close to his belt buckle. I can feel the muscles contracting under his skin as his hand grips my wrist tightly, stilling me.

"What's wrong?" I murmur against his lips, eyes barely opening.

"Nothing," he assures me, his voice raspy. "I'm just... enjoying it a little too much."

He glances down at his lap, self consciously trying to adjust his hips to accommodate the growing bulge inside of his pants. He was so quick to leave the last time I'd felt it, but ever since I find myself re-living the memory of it pressed against me at the most inappropriate times.

Images of Peeta laying in bed by himself, fully able to hear Rye and I together just one room over and Fallon's harsh words from group a few weeks ago spring to my mind.

_Who'd want him?!_

But I can't remember a time where I've ever wanted to touch anyone more than I want to touch him now.

"_Katniss,"_ Peeta breathes out in a warning and I feel him swallow thickly as I kiss the base of his throat.

I slide my hand, still covered by the tight grip he holds on my wrist, down between his legs and palm him experimentally. Peeta's body stiffens like a board and he lets out a deep grunt, his eyes fastening shut.

I break free from his grasp, slinking down to the ground on my knees and moving between his parted legs. He watches me through lidded eyes as I pull at the button of his slacks until it pops open. He breathes out in relief from the pressure and doesn't resist as I instruct him to lift his hips up. He helps me move his pants down over his hips but grips them tightly as I try moving them past his thighs.

I don't fight it. This is about him after all, and I want him to be as comfortable as possible. When my hands lift off his waistband and move towards the hardened flesh that rests against his belly his grip loosens, though never quite lets go completely.

"Oh!" he gasps suddenly as my hand wraps around him for the first time and I can feel his pulse coursing through his swollen member. I run my hand up and down the length of him, gliding across the tip and twisting as it smoothes over the base.

My other hand places itself over the patch of hair that sits against his body, surprised at how neat and well-kept the area is. The night before the Pairings Ceremony was the first time I ever shaved beneath my underwear, never having had a reason to before that.

"You have to keep quiet," I whisper to Peeta as he clutches the material of his pants harder and lets out a low whimper.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as I glide my nails along his underside. "I... I've just... _ugh._ Katniss you don't realize-"

"Shhh," I smile, moving my hand faster in time with his clenches and shallow thrusts. I watch as his head tilts against the back of the couch before springing back up, his eyes heavy as he fights to keep them open, watching my every move with parted lips.

I move my hand to rest against his tight one, trailing my finger over the veins that bulge under his skin. He slowly lets go of his pants to entwine his fingers with mine, breathing quicker as I lower them to my chest pressed against his thigh.

Through the thin material of my shirt I know he can feel my hardening nipple and guide him to pinch and swirl his fingers along it.

"_Ahhh_," he croons, palming my flesh tenderly and I feel him grow harder in my palm.

I reach down to run my fingertips over his swollen balls, causing his back to arch and clear liquid to drip down the tip of his penis. I rub the added saturation over the sensitive underside of it, watching as he squirms and writhers with pleasure.

"Does this feel good?" I ask in a breathless whisper and he nods tightly, his eyebrows knitting together in concentration.

"Be-Better than I... _ohh_... _imagined,"_ he tells me stiffly. "Katniss I'm close. I'm... _so close."_

"Peeta-" I start but he lets out a sharp gasp and instinctively my hand reaches up and plants itself over his lips firmly. He lets out a soft groan behind my palm and I wiggle a finger between his lips until it rests against his teeth.

"_Quiet,"_ I insist.

I give him a little squeeze and he grunts, his eyes widening before screwing shut and watch as his hips lift clear off the couch and all the muscles in his body stiffen as he starts to come over my hand and his belly.

He bites down hard on my finger, a mixture of groans and whimpers spilling from his mouth behind my hand as he looks to me intently, never breaking our gaze until he's spilled all he has out and grows too sensitive to touch.

I watch as his eyes slowly close and his heaving chest starts to calm. His body continues to spasm randomly as bolts of pleasure continue to course through him and he droops against the couch limply, barely registering it when I stand up and walk into the kitchen.

As I run a paper towel under the warm sink water, I hear him call for me quietly, slightly panicky, and curse the way I melt at the relieved smile that crosses his lips when I poke my head back in.

He watches with a sense of awe as I run the damp paper towel over his sensitive skin, careful not to miss any part of him.

"I have to go to bed now," I tell him softly, glancing up as he quivers when I trail the towel over his scrotum. "You should try to get some sleep too."

He lifts his underwear and pants over his hips and I help him with the button - his hands still too shaky to properly clasp it - before I rise to my feet and help him up, handing him his crutch.

"Thank you," he says, adjusting it under his arm before looking back down at me. "I... _thank you."_

I reach up and place one last kiss on his nose.

"Goodnight, Peeta."

* * *

The next four days that pass are tense. Peeta and I go about our normal routines as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened, careful to avoid eye-contact or extended conversations.

It didn't take long for my mind to begin running wild after I snuck into bed _that_ night, and my stomach churned in knots as I skimmed through possible fates that could await Peeta and I. Images of Leevy being dragged away and the gun shot sounding not long after play on repeat in my mind. If they killed her for making a scene at the ceremony, surely Peeta and I are in much greater risk of execution now.

I think back to the "scary stories" Father used to tell Prim and I, about bad children who disobeyed their parents and were taken to the Capitol to serve as slaves. Their tongues were cut off to ensure they could no longer talk back or interrupt rudely and they were called _Avoxes. _It used to bother our mother when he'd say those things, because they usually made Prim cry and Father would have to promise her the story was only make-believe.

But this one time when Gale and I were walking to school and saw Haymitch Abernathy stumbling through the square, we asked him what he knew about Avoxes - being the only one in District Twelve who'd ever possibly seen them. He ignored us at first, continuing towards the Hob where he knew he could find liquor. As we continued to persist he finally turned around sharply, causing us both to jump, and smiled towards us cynically. He went on to describe them in great detail, creating images that would later grow to haunt my sleep before telling us to get out of his way and continuing down the road.

That night, I had nightmares that centered around Peeta in an entirely red wardrobe, unable to speak and stumbling over himself as the Capitol treated him with more brutality than they already do.

And it was enough for me to realize we had been stupid to think we were not playing with fire.

Early that next morning, I'd made up my mind that we needed to have as little to do with one another as possible. It was the only way to keep him safe. I couldn't risk him being in any more of a target to the Capitol because of me.

The hardest part had been the first morning, when I walked down into the kitchen. Rye had already left for the bakery and Peeta was whistling happily as he normally did, scrambling up more than enough eggs for just one. When he caught a glimpse of me watching him, his entire face lit up and he smiled wider than I can remember seeing ever from him. But it quickly diminished as he noticed me not returning it.

I left for the bakery before he could offer me any breakfast, setting a clear tone for where our relationship now stood.

We haven't talked much at all since then... the only time I'm able to recall to memory being when Rye was busy with a customer and Peeta asked me to tell him we were low on sugar.

He didn't understand, but I couldn't allow him to. If I explained to him why it is that I'm treating him this way, that it's actually so that I can _help_ him, he would only insist on finding an easier way, one that still allowed us to be together.

And that just can't happen.

It could work for a little bit. We could meet up late into the night while Rye was asleep or for the short time we occasionally had alone in the mornings before one or both of us went into the bakery and likely nobody would notice.

But eventually, it would catch up. It would show in our faces - the lust and need for one another, the anger and bitterness that we could not openly be together - and we might even start to slip, talking about one another inappropriately for our relationship.

And soon enough, someone would figure it out.

Rye is smart. And he is kind, always having been more than reasonable and generous towards me. But this is taking reasonableness to an entirely new level and it would be out of line for me to ask him _not_ to report us.

I can't put him in that position.

A sudden crash sounds throughout the bakery, startling me back into reality. A moment later, a loud string of frustrated curses fall from Peeta's lips from behind the kitchen door.

Rye and I exchange worried looks nervously before rushing towards the commotion, peering inside.

Splayed at Peeta's feet are a dozen overturned cupcakes. Pink frosting smears across the ground as Peeta tosses the tray across the room with the help of his crutch.

"It's okay, man," Rye says, already moving to help clean the mess but Peeta stops him immediately, holding up a hand in protest.

"Don't touch it," he grits out, his eyes burning furiously.

"Peeta, it's alright-" Rye starts, bending over.

"I don't need your help!" he insists, his voice rising again with anger. "I don't need help from either of you!"

His eyes flicker over mine at the last words and his eyes soften for just a moment before the piercing hurt returns to them and he whips himself in the direction of the door, stalking off as quickly as he can manage without another word.

Rye's face is heavy with confusion as he stays crouched towards the ground, calling for his brother until he winces at the sound of the front door slamming shut. I bring the garbage can closer to where he sits on the floor and help him load the soiled cupcakes into it silently.

"What's wrong with Peeta?" Rye asks after the silence has stretched on awkwardly. He says it in a way that suggests he thinks I know the answer and when I dare to meet his eyes he staring back at me intently, waiting.

"I... I don't know. How should I know?" I rush out quickly, my voice an octave higher than normal as I dart to find something to focus on that isn't him.

Rye chuckles a little, smiling back at me as I search him for underlying humor.

"What?" I snap in frustration, my voice coming out harsher than I intend.

"I care about you a lot, Katniss," he says, dusting himself off as he tosses the last cupcake. "But don't bullshit me."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, my resolve getting weaker as my heart begins to throb.

"I know how things are... between you and him," Rye admits with a sigh and my skin burns along my face and neck.

"You... saw us... the other night?" I ask shakily, rubbing my sweaty palms against the front of my apron.

"No..." Rye says slowly, a hint of confusion to his tone.

"Oh."

_Fuck._

He tilts his head down with a knowing smile before pushing a hand through his hair and glancing back up at me.

"I've known since you were kids, Katniss," he admits honestly. "When you made him that crutch."

Peeta and I were thirteen years old at the time, making Rye sixteen. I stayed late after school to help my teacher clean up the classroom for a few extra coins and was walking home through town when I passed a commotion in the bakery.

Mrs. Mellark had Peeta by the neck of his shirt, his one leg wobbling as she gripped his crutch in the other, shaking it around in her hand as she spit into his face.

_You think money grows on trees!? _she demanded, throwing it to the ground and watching him drop as she let go of him.

_You just received a new one last year! It's not enough you're defected, you have to constantly be draining our funds while you're at it! _

Peeta mumbled an apology, standing himself up and adjusting the too-small crutch underneath his arm. It only came up to the middle of his ribcage and when he tried to move he had to bend his leg significantly until his armpit rested on the wooden bar.

_What are you looking at? _

Both Peeta and I both straightened our posture, our eyes meeting for just a moment before mine focused on Mrs. Mellark, coming down off the front steps towards me with her hand raised.

_Worthless Seam brat! Get out of here! Scram! I don't want to find you going through our garbage bins, you hear? _

Although I tried distracting myself from thoughts of Peeta and his cruel mother, throughout the rest of the night it was all I could continue to focus on. I saw him later that day in school, hobbling along with little to no help from his outgrown crutch and acute pangs of sorrow washed through me.

And I knew I had to help him.

Gale thought I was crazy when I asked if he would help me cut down a thick branch from one of the trees we often hid out in. But I wanted to use material I trusted, and the wood this tree offered was strong and resilient.

It took some time for me to whittle the branch into a shape that resembled his former crutch and I often had to use Gale as a reference as I estimated a proper height for him.

I worked hard on the crutch for the following few weeks, unable to give Gale a clear answer when he asked why I was focusing so hard on the defected boy rather than my own family starving at home.

But I was well aware that Gale would split whatever spoils he caught out in the woods with me and that my family would not go hungry.

Gale looked after us, but there was no one who looked after Peeta.

After I had successfully finished and tested it to make sure it wouldn't snap under the pressure of his weight, I made my way into town one evening, when the sun was just beginning to set.

It was raining, and with winter well on its way the droplets felt like knives against my skin as it continued to beat down on me heavily. The Mellark's house was lit up and inside I could see them gathered at the table for dinner, fresh rolls sitting in the center that were still so warm I could see heat rising off of them.

I placed the crutch against the door and reached out to touch the doorbell when the door flung open suddenly, causing me to stumble back.

It was one of his brothers - I had never been sure of which one until now - tall and bulky, looking down at me in confusion before focusing on the wet piece of wood leaning in towards them.

I ran before he could say anything.

"I promise you it won't happen again," I tell him shakily, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear and casting my gaze downward. "I'm sorry."

"You can't help the way you feel," Rye murmurs gently and when I glance up at him his eyes are distant. "It's... not in our nature, being paired with someone of another's choosing."

"But we should adjust," I counter. "You adjusted. Why can't..." I trail off as Rye begins to shake his head and exhales shakily, closing his eyes.

"We are not meant to adjust," he whispers. "We adjust out of fear."

"Rye..." I say in a warning, casting my eyes over my shoulder to make sure no one has entered into the bakery unknowingly.

"I'm not different than you," he continues, his eyes boring into my own. "There was someone..."

I wait when his words cut off quickly, but as the silence continues to stretch I chance a step forward and rest my hand on top of his own. His eyes lift to meet mine and the corners of his lips turn up hesitantly.

"I thought maybe we could cheat the system," he speaks from no where with a critical snicker. "That if we could somehow make our answers line up perfectly, convince them that we were _made_ for one another, they would pair us."

I swallow heavily.

"She knew it was crazy, that it wouldn't work but I couldn't allow myself to give up because imagining a life without her... a life where I couldn't reach out and touch her freely or hear her laughter whenever was one that I didn't want to live in... and it wasn't fair."

"The Capitol doesn't care about fairness."

"No," he agrees, shaking his head. "They most certainly do not."

"So, what happened to her?" I ask, immediately biting my lip as realization that it is not my place washes over me. I open my mouth with an apology clinging to my lips when Rye speaks before I can.

"She was paired with a Caverly," he barely utters, anger clear in his tone. "And just like Isaac, there was nothing I could do about it."

I stare back at him in shock, unable to wrap my mind around the fact that I have been completely oblivious to any chemistry Lacy and Rye have held for one another. I think back over every morning she's come into the bakery, her smile larger than I remember it ever being at our knitting group, or how Rye insists on helping her, being more persistent than with any other customer...

I guess I had always chalked that up to him feeling sorry for her, being paired with Nico, and that he'd feel the same way towards anyone with her fate.

But that wouldn't explain why her name has randomly come up in conversation, how she was the only woman he mentioned directly after the Pairings Ceremony...

Or how his jaw reflexively clenches when he sees her and Nico holding hands through the square.

I let out a tight breath as an instant wave of relief washes through my body at the admission before my arms wrap themselves around his steady body. He returns the embrace immediately, pulling me in closely to him before kissing the top of my head.

"I'm so sorry, Rye," I swallow, pressing my head against his chest.

"Well, I didn't say all that for sympathy," he assures me, pulling back a little and glancing down at me, his expression one of seriousness. "I said it so that you'd know that I'm okay with you and... Peeta."

I stare back at him blankly, unable to grasp the meaning behind his words because _surely he can't mean..._

"What?" I ask, the hopefulness too clear in my tone. Rye nods gently, a small smile teasing the corners of his lips.

"I um... we'll have to keep up public appearances and... expectations," he says slowly. "But, I... don't want to come in between the two of you. I don't want Peeta upset. And I don't want you stuck in the middle."

I know his words are meant to come as a comfort, but I have never felt more stuck in the middle than in this moment.

"I won't tell anyone."

My head spins around in confusion, trying to understand how it is I can care so strongly for someone and yet still have some sort of feelings for another.

It's true that if I had been able to choose my own spouse, I would not be married to Rye Mellark. But I was not given that luxury and Rye Mellark is my assigned spouse.

I can't very well forget that, and I certainly can't just _abandon_ him.

"I thought you might be a little more excited," he admits with a teasing chuckle.

"No... I am, I'm very grateful for your selflessness," I insure him before swallowing. "I... I guess I'm just confused."

Rye's eyebrows knit together, creating a crease down the center of his nose.

"What are you confused about, Katniss?"

_What am I confused about?_

A cocktail of emotion swims around inside of me, conflicting emotions bumping heads and an acute pounding working its way along my temples.

"I... still care about you," I tell him truthfully.

Rye chuckles, squeezing my palm tightly in his with a wink.

"I know."

* * *

Although several days have passed since Rye gave me permission to be with Peeta, we've barely spoken still, leaving me little room to tell him about the conversation we had.

I had been tempted to go to Peeta right away and tell him everything and possibly engage in more kisses like we had last week... but with doubts and confusion still clouding my mind after all this time, I'm happy that I've decided to wait.

Today is my day off from the bakery and earlier I had to meet up with the other merchant wives for knitting group, where Nadia excitedly informed us that she was pregnant. It was still early on, and my mother had to told her not to tell many people - just in case - but _she could trust us with her secret. _

I'm sure the entire District knows by now.

I smiled and congratulated her as she went around the circle, making eye contact with each of us to approve of the enthusiasm in our reactions. But behind the front I was still panicking, especially with the new _circumstances _floating around our house.

And, it was hard sitting in the same room as Lacy and pretending that I had no idea what had gone on between her and Rye. I felt guilty, almost like I needed to apologize to her, like I was stepping on her toes by being married to Rye. I think about how I might feel if Peeta had been able to be paired and I had to watch him walk around the District with another woman. The idea alone is enough to infuriate me.

But Lacy continued on oblivious to my knowledge throughout group, smiling at me when our eyes would occasionally meet and joining in the conversation when it seemed appropriate.

It should be another few hours before Rye or Peeta get home from the bakery, which is why I'm surprised when I hear the door swing open and close roughly a moment later. A heavy foot and clanking of a crutch soon after sound throughout the house and I hear Peeta sigh deeply from the living room, the couch creaking under his added weight.

"Oh," he says, clearly caught off guard as he takes note of me standing in the doorway. He presses his hands against the couch to push himself up immediately, reaching out for his crutch.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles with his head turned towards the ground. "I didn't know you were home. I thought you were still at your knitting... group."

"No, it's fine," I say quickly, chancing a step forward. "You don't have leave. It's... your home too."

Peeta's eyes meet mine for the first time in days and he searches them skeptically before allowing himself to lower back down onto the couch. An acute wave of guilt courses through me as I start to recognize the old Peeta creeping into his personality, the one who does not trust anyone and remains closed off.

"You're home early," I say in an attempt at normal conversation, hoping he can't pick up on the shakiness to my voice.

"Yeah," he shrugs, "Not too busy of a day and the crutch was getting a little painful."

"Oh," I nod, noting the way he runs his hand along his ribcage. I sit down on the couch beside him, ignoring the stinging in my chest as he scoots a little further. "Is it time for you to get a new one?"

"No, the one I have is fine."

"Because maybe I coul-"

"There's nothing wrong with it. It's just not always the most comfortable thing, if you can imagine."

His words come out harsh and biting and his eyebrows are knitted together in frustration as he glances up at me. We stare back at each other for a long moment, well aware of the underlying problem that screams to be brought to the surface, but neither of us speak. The timing is perfect for a confrontation, it's not often Peeta and I are given extended periods of time alone with each other and the more time that seems to pass with silence between us, the further I feel him drifting away from me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, a flash of his familiar and softer tone shining through the words. "It's just... been a long day. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"It's okay," I promise with the same soft tone, running my sweaty palms over the material of the dress resting over my thighs. "I just miss you, is all."

My words surprise him and his eyebrows lift up in question, but his lips stay tightly pressed together.

"It just feels like it's been years since we've talked and I know there's weirdness between the two of us right now, but we can't keep going on like this."

Peeta pulls at a loose thread on the cover of our couch.

"...Can we?" I finally ask when he doesn't respond and his eyes lift up to catch my own.

"Katniss, I didn't put the weirdness between us, you did," he rushes out. "Do you think I enjoy this? Tip-toeing around one another, unable to speak openly to the _one_ person who ever listened?"

I wait, my chest heaving.

"I miss you too," he breathes, his body unconsciously growing closer to mine. "I've missed you _so much._"

"I'm right here," I whisper heavily, my eyelids beginning to droop.

"But that's just it," his tone is harder, and when I glance up at him, his eyes are stony. "You're here... but you're not mine_... _you'll never be _mine._"

"Peeta..."

"And it's too painful, continuing to ignore that."

"_Peeta,"_ I say and his eyes widen when I grip both his cheeks in my palms. "... Rye _knows._"

He blinks, looking for signs of truth to my words.

"How?" he finally asks and I tell him everything, recalling every detail of our conversation in the bakery to him and watching as he fights to make understanding of my words.

"I wanted to tell you, but I... I still feel so... confused..."

Peeta waits patiently, though his hand comes up between our bodies to take hold of the bottom half of my braid which dangles down my chest.

"I confuse you?" he finally asks, staring intently down at his hands.

I pull my hair loose from his hands and tilt his head up so that it's in line with mine before wrapping my arms around his neck.

"_Nothing_ about you confuses me," I promise breathlessly and then our lips are pressed tightly together. His mouth molds to my own with just a moment's hesitancy and slowly his hands move along my lower back, pulling me in closer to him, as if he cannot possibly get enough.

My back arches as he trails his fingers over a sensitive spot, causing my chest to press up tight against his and he lets out a guttural groan. My hands run themselves wild through his curls, tugging and pulling at them tightly, forcing his head closer to my own.

When I'm with him, there is nothing else. No noise besides our breathing. No color besides the darkness that swirls around my closed lids. And _no one_ else.

Which is why I hadn't noticed Rye getting home until Peeta's lips pull away from mine and his hands tug out from around me sheepishly. I turn to where his eyes are glued in confusion to find Rye gazing in on us.

He doesn't say anything but slips his shoes off and walks into the kitchen.

Peeta and I sit frozen in our spots; trying desperately to slow our uneven breathing. We're unable to meet each other's gaze and when Rye calls out for us, asking what we want for dinner, it's as if both of our voices are lodged into our throats.

_He said it was okay! _my mind screams at me. _You're not doing it behind his back..._

But then why do I still feel so caught in the middle?

* * *

With July here and summer in full-swing, the temperatures continually press higher each day, making it difficult to even stand up straight, let alone _do anything._

I swipe the back of my arm along my sticky forehead, removing the beads of perspiration I feel building there before sighing deeply. Peeta appears by my side instantly, holding out a glass of water for me to take. Already the ice cubes have begun melting.

"Thanks," I murmur, pressing the cool cup against my lips with relief. I clear half the glass in one gulp before placing it back on the table and leaning further into my chair.

I'm happy that it's a Sunday. It means the bakery closes early and we're home by four in the afternoon. It's a nice change to the demanding schedule throughout the rest of the week, when we're lucky if everyone is home together by nine.

I watch Peeta fall down into the chair beside me, letting out a deep sigh before tucking his crutch in the corner against the wall. His cheeks are splotchy red and clear liquid drops decorate the edges of his hairline. He wears a simple white t-shirt that clings to his back and chest, leaving nothing to the imagination in the way of his muscular form.

I think about how they rippled and quivered under my touch as I raked my nails down his belly, twirling my fingers around his coarse hairs that trailed down between his legs...

My thighs clench together as I shift in my seat and I hope the blush creeping to my cheeks can be attributed to heat.

It's been a few weeks since Rye first walked in on Peeta and I kissing on the couch. I confronted him about it that night before bed, apologizing, and even though he swore that it was _still_ alright, I couldn't shake the nausea that overtook me when I thought back to it. Since, I've been more careful where Peeta and I choose to act on our feelings.

It was harder than I had anticipated, between avoiding any public area where people might see and Rye at the house and our different schedules... but somehow we made it work. We managed to steal quick kisses in the early morning or soft caresses late at night, far past when either of us should be staying up.

And for a little bit, Rye seemed to back off, as if sensing our struggle. He'd stay late at work or send Peeta home early on my days off with one excuse or another. Those were great moments, where I didn't feel like I had to still my laboring breaths or quiet Peeta's gentle moans with the risk of being heard.

Then, last week Rye and I were working together in the bakery when Lacy came in, just as she usually does in the morning. She smiled hesitantly towards Rye as he asked if he could get her typical order.

"_Add two more buns," _she insisted, fishing in her purse for the extra money. _"I've got a little one on the way to feed." _

Her words were spoken slow and deliberate, and for the first time since she walked in, her eyes flit up to meet Rye's intently. I might not have noticed the heaviness to their silent exchange if Rye hadn't filled me in on their background, but knowing what I did made my heart ache as Rye's stiff body deflate.

"_I'm sorry," _she whispered, placing her hand on top of his as if she'd forgotten where she was or that I was only a few feet away, watching, and then she turned and left.

That night, after dinner, Rye and I went up to our bedroom and he immediately began stripping me of my clothing, peppering my skin with kisses and grinding his pelvis against me.

"_Rye," _I had managed in between my breathless pants. _"We shouldn't... we don't have to."_

"_We have to," _he insisted, his glazed eyes reflecting in the glare of the moon.

"_Not tonight," _I murmured, not missing the way his voice catches with the words. _"We don't have to tonight."_

"_...It shouldn't have taken this long!" _he said suddenly, pulling away from me and yanking at the roots of his hair in frustration. _"You should have been pregnant months ago, Katniss."_

"_It's not always an exact science. Sometimes it takes longer. It just might be harder becau-"_

"_-Because I'm defected," _he finishes hollowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, slumped over. His head dangled in his palms and I hear him sniff quietly, wiping his face with his forearm quickly as I take a seat next to him, placing my hand on his thigh.

"_You don't know that," _I murmur, though my voice is less than convincing.

"_Come on, Katniss," _he chuckles humorlessly. _"You know you've thought about it too."_

I never mentioned the conversation my mother and I had the morning of the Reaping, even though I had intended to. At first, I convinced myself the timing had not been right - the last thing he needed to hear on the day of the Reaping was that on top of everything else, we still weren't pregnant - but as time dragged on and I kept searching for reasons, I knew it was because deep down I was scared to admit the problem out loud.

But of course, he knew. Sometimes, silence was all the answer that was needed.

Since the morning with Lacy, Rye has been more insistent on us continuing to try for a baby. It's become somewhat of a nightly routine, which between that and the heated days has left me little to no energy to focus on Peeta.

But even more than that, I've sensed a shift in the happy-go-lucky personality of Rye that I've come to know... an almost _possessive_ side. For the past week it's felt as if wherever I go, Rye is there. Even now as Peeta and I sit at the table, solving a word search together, Rye is just a few feet in front of us, making dinner.

His eyes shift focus to us occasionally, but when he notices me staring back he only smiles half-heartedly, turning back to the bubbling water over the stove.

"Cheater," Peeta mumbles as I circle another word on the sheet - officially having three more bubbles outlined than him.

"You can't cheat at a word search," I protest with a chuckle. "Apparently, I'm just smarter."

"Well, I _am_ a defect so..."

"Peeta!" I gasp and his eyes widen at the horror laced in my tone.

"What?" he asks innocently, "I was just kidding."

"It wasn't very funny..." I mutter sourly, looking him over with narrowed eyes. "Don't joke like that. You're not a defect."

"Well... I am."

"I don't care what the Capitol says, you are _not," _I protest, anger boiling in my veins, but Peeta only laughs to himself easily, shaking his head a little as he smiles down at me.

"What?" I bite.

"Nothing," he says, "You just look cute when you get all riled up."

I stiffen in my seat immediately after the words leave his lips and a blush creeps to my cheeks. Though I'm not quite used to Peeta being so liberal with his words, it's not the first time he's told me something of this nature...

It's just the first time he's done it when someone else is around.

Peeta's smile drops almost instantly, like he was just realizing his brother - my husband - is _definitely_ within hearing distance of us and the color drains from his face as we go silent.

Rye continues stirring the pot of soup he's preparing, throwing in some carrots and celery slices quietly before finally glancing up to meet my gaze.

"Katniss?" he asks, ladling a spoonful up past the pot. "Can you come here?"

I stand up immediately, making my way over to where he stands, tensing slightly as he slides an arm around my waist. I throw a glance over my shoulder at Peeta, whose frown is deep and eyes averted.

"Want to be my taste tester?" he asks with a smile so wide I can't help but reciprocate it.

"Sure," I agree, holding my mouth open in anticipation as he blows onto the spoon and presses it against my lips.

I let out a small moan as I swallow, my eyes falling back in appreciation as the savory aftertaste clings to the inside of my mouth.

"Oh god," I sigh, "That's delicious."

Rye leans in, pressing his lips to mine and the arm that's latched around my middle tightens until the front of our bodies are flush against one anothers. I feel his tongue prod for entry into my mouth and pull back, staring up at him with questioning eyes.

He looks back at me, a mixture of confusion and intensity in his stare as his neck cranes forward to capture me again. I feel his hands trailing over my body, lower on my back until his fingers tickle the curve of my butt and up high around my neck, making the small hairs there stand on edge. I know it's wrong, that we shouldn't be doing this here... in front of Peeta... but there's an odd rush that courses through me at the idea of him watching and I find myself molding a little closer to his brother.

"Do you _mind?"_ Peeta's voice seethes from behind me, breaking through my wild thoughts as both Rye and I snap our heads in his direction.

"Do you?" Rye challenges with an arched eyebrow and Peeta's head drops down a little as he reaches out for his crutch.

"Excuse me..."

"Where the hell are you going?" Rye asks him, allowing me to twist out from his grip as I reach out for Peeta.

"Somewhere else," Peeta clenches.

"She's my wife, you know," Rye bites back, taking a step in front of him, blocking the exit. "It's all great and everything that it worked out for the two of you, but that's not how it is for most of us. I don't get to be with the person I lo-" he cuts off sharply, turning towards me with wounded eyes, heavy with apology.

Of course I understand, he must know that out of most the people in Panem, _I_ can relate to his current situation entirely. And he's right, without his help, Peeta and my relationship would be nonexistent and most people do not have that kind of opportunity.

But I still have an obligation to Rye. And in the same strange sense that he loves me, I love him.

"Why are you taking this out on me?" Peeta asks him, his voice quivering. "I get it. She's yours and just mine to borrow. You don't have to do it right in front of me."

"Fine," Rye says, reaching out towards me. I take hold of his hand as he leads me down the hallway and up towards the staircase.

"Wait," I say, glancing back at Peeta whose eyebrows are still pressed together tightly. "You should come too."

The look that crosses both Rye and Peeta's face is indistinguishable and I immediately feel heat rising to my cheeks as I realize what I've actually said _out loud. _

Peeta blinks a few times in confusion and Rye's mouth opens and closes before he finally asks, _what?_

"You said that I could have you both, right?" I say hesitantly, swallowing down any uncertainty in my mind, because the image of being able to have both of them... at the same time...

I shift a little in my spot before raising an eyebrow towards Rye challengingly.

"I uh..." he says, dumbfounded and I pull on his arm before glancing back down at Peeta.

"You know where to find us..."

The moment the door shuts, Rye rips his shirt from his body before making quick work of pulling the zipper down on my dress. He throws me down onto the bed, tugging the material off over my arms and allowing it to fall down over my torso until it's laying in a pile on the floor.

He encases my breasts with his palms, squeezing them firmly and massaging the erect points of my nipples before his neck arches down and he wraps his lips around my left one as his hand continues its tease on the other. He lets his free hand trail down to where my underwear is practically soaked through and the skin of my thighs stick together. I gasp out, my back arching as he teases the hard nub at the apex of my legs over the material, rubbing it in small circles as my back arches off of the bed.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, his finger flicking faster as he pushes my underwear off to one side and experimentally sticks a finger inside of me. My eyes screw tight as he starts pumping them in and out of me until I hear the sound of the door opening off to the side of me, and both of our heads snap up to see Peeta timidly entering.

His eyes flit between my face and Rye's fingers between my thighs and he swallows heavily.

"Hi," I offer up, feeling ridiculous as a wave of shyness washes over me.

_Of all the times to start feeling shy..._

I sit up on my elbows, my messy hair dangling behind me and I smile as he focuses in on my bare chest for the first time and I hear him let out a soft groan.

I pat the spot next to me, urging him to come closer and watch as he takes a few hesitant steps forward, lowering himself down onto the mattress slowly. I can see his tense body clenching and his teeth gnashing behind his closed lips with nervousness, and I have to remind myself that this is all new to Peeta.

All he's ever done is what we did together that first night.

I reach out and place a hand on his tight forearm, pulling him in closer to me until I can hook an arm around his neck and press his lips against mine.

Our kisses are familiar territory to him and I can feel him already starting to lose himself as his mouth opens around mine, giving me free access to explore. My hand tightens in his hair, tickling my nails across his sensitive skin and smiling a little when I feel a shiver run up his spine.

His hands grip his thigh and the sheets under us tightly and his lips stumble against mine a little when I trail my free hand over his arm, pulling it up to rest on my stomach. I let him set the pace, squirming as he tickles his way up my taut stomach towards the swell of my breasts, but never quite landing there.

I mewl, arching against him in encouragement as Rye begins to lazily pump his fingers in and out from me again. Peeta lets out a deep groan, one that rumbles through me as his hand lands on my uncovered skin for the first time. He squeezes the one gently, working it in the same way he had the night I'd first given him permission to touch me, before his other hand quickly joins in, mimicking the movements.

Between the two boys' attack, my head throws itself back in ecstacy and I cling to Peeta's shirt harder, instantly wanting it _off. _He makes note of the way I tug at the material and wastes no time pulling it off over his head and letting it fall to the pile of discarded clothes on the ground.

With our lips parted and his hands momentarily off my chest, his eyes linger down to where his brother teases my clit and I see the way he instinctively runs his tongue over his lips. His hands slide themselves over my belly again, moving further down until they come to circle around my hipbone, as if itching to be elsewhere.

"You wanna try?" Rye asks, his voice husky as he looks between his brother and I. They switch positions, Rye moving up closer to me and Peeta between my parted legs. He bends over, placing a quick kiss to my belly before his fingers hook under the flimsy material of my underwear and he pulls them down over my legs until I'm able to flick them off with my toes.

"Shit," he breathes with darkening eyes. He inhales deeply, adjusting his position before delicately trailing his fingers through the small curls that are between my legs. I part a little wider instinctively and bite the bottom of my lip as Rye starts to nip at the base of my neck.

I place a hand on his thigh, squeezing it tightly before moving further up to rub over the bulge in his pants, squirming when he lets out a deep groan of satisfaction.

As Peeta's fingers trail lower the pad of his forefinger catches on my swollen clit and I gasp in surprise, causing him to tear his hand away from me immediately.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, his face growing bright red.

Rye glances down at him with lidded eyes, his lips swollen from their busy work and nods his head.

"You're fine," Rye encourages.

"That... it felt good," I tell him, smiling a little as he darkens more.

"Rub her clitoris in circles," Rye coaches breathlessly and I'm not sure why it sends a pool of wetness between my legs. "Slowly... it's sensitive."

Peeta follows his brother's instructions, moving his finger down between my legs hesitantly and circling his calloused finger across my hardened flesh, causing my whole body to stiffen and a soft cry to escape my lips.

"There ya go," Rye murmurs against my skin. "Flick it a little."

I let out an embarrassing noise as Peeta mimics the words a moment later, paying careful attention to what made me react and trying desperately to repeat it.

"Peeta," I gasp out and he looks up at me with lidded eyes, the outline of his erection clearly visible through his tan slacks and a small wet circle forming where the tip sits. "Inside... _please."_

He understands my jumbled plea and his fingers move away from their tease on my clit to the slick inside of my folds. He groans at the wetness, murmuring to no one in particular how warm it feels.

I feel him moving around with inexperience, trying to find where to insert his fingers, his face becoming more twisted the longer it takes. He lets out a deep sigh, shifting with embarrassment before murmuring another quiet apology.

"It's okay," I tell him, reassuringly and we both watch as Rye's hand snakes down my body before he presses a thick finger back inside of me.

"Right here," he grunts towards Peeta, pumping it a few times before I feel Peeta's fingers teasing right along side of it. Rye moves, allowing his brother to enter and I wiggle as Peeta's fingers twirl around randomly.

My head falls back into the pillow with a sigh as he works his way in and out of me and Rye continues to trail down to my collarbone and over the swells of my breasts.

"Ugh, Katniss," Rye moans, unzipping his pants and slipping my hand down into them to better grip his swollen erection.

The room seems too quiet around the sporadic gasps and moans that leave each of our lips over the next few minutes as Peeta grows more comfortable and Rye bucks into my hand quicker. Even though it's all amazing - especially knowing it's _Peeta_ who's making me feel this way - I know it's not enough to make me finish and frustration begins to well up inside of me as my need for release builds.

"Peeta," I hiss, looking up through heavy eyes to face his dazed expression. I have to handle this delicately, because the last thing I want is to embarrass him or make him feel like he hasn't done a good job.

I close my legs a little, forcing his fingers out from inside of me and then swing them back behind me, crawling towards him on my hands and knees. He backs up a little, until he bumps back against the headboard and turns around to look at it in surprise.

"That felt so good," I tell him honestly, toying with the soft hairs that lay against the skin under his belly button. He quivers under my ministrations, closing his eyes a little as his hips flex. "But, I want to make you feel good, too."

"You... me?" he asks with a raised eyebrow and I nod slowly, racking my fingers over his covered erection before popping the button of his pants open.

I hear Rye discarding his own pants behind me, his belt buckle hitting the wooden floors hard before he runs a hand over my butt, squeezing it in his thick palm as I feel his cock against the back of my thighs.

"Fuck," he grits out as he teases the tip of his erection against my folds. "You're so wet. It turns you on, doesn't it? Having both of us like this."

"_Yes," _I sigh, choking on the word as he pushes into me with a grunt. I force my eyes open, biting my lip as I look up to Peeta, my eyes boring into his nearly black ones. He reaches up to run his hand over my cheek, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear.

"Lift your hips," I murmur to him as Rye thrusts into me quickly, his hands massaging my back up and down, causing it to arch down towards the mattress.

The intense arousal in Peeta's gaze lessens as he glances down at his pants and back up at me, a silent plea clinging to his parted lips. I rest a hand on the leg that ends at his thigh, something meant as a reassuring gesture but he jumps at the contact, his worried gaze only deepening.

"They stay on," I promise, my head reflexively nodding in pleasure as Rye thrusts deeper inside of me. I can feel his hands shaking on top of my body.

Peeta hooks his hands under the waistband of his pants and underwear, pulling them down just far enough for his erection to spring loose, slapping against the skin of his belly.

He grunts as I wrap a hand around him, rubbing his silk-like skin up and down a few times.

"That feels so nice," he praises, his hips bucking up to meet my hand. I watch as his head lulls back against the headboard, causing it to bang against the wall heavily. I look up at him, watching the way his hands twist in the fabric of the sheets with pleasure and how he bites his bottom lip heavily when my hand starts to move faster.

Still new to this, I know he won't last much longer, but an intense feeling washes over me as I take his excitement in and I have the desire to do something for him that I have never done before.

Taking advantage of his closed eyes and relaxed state, I bend my arms down a little, leaning my head closer to his pulsing erection until I slip the tip of him past my lips.

The reaction is immediate as Peeta's entire body stiffens and he flies into an upright position, his muscles clenching as he registers my actions.

"Ugh," he breathes shakily, his mouth opening wider as if he wanted to speak but the words die on his lips. _"Ohhh."_

"Mmm," I moan around his flesh, feeling it throb a moment later. I swirl my tongue around the ridge on his underside, smiling to myself as he grunts out a soft curse.

I feel as clumsy as Peeta must have felt as I try to push him deeper into my mouth and end up gagging as it goes back too far. With watery eyes I pull out, gasping a little as I feel a familiar sting settle on my cheeks.

After that, I stick to licks, running my tongue from the base of his shaft all the way up to his head, trailing behind shortly with my hand which holds a steady grip on him. I tease the thick and bulging vein that pulses along the underside, which makes his thigh muscles turn solid and the toes on his one foot curl.

"Katniss... it feels _amazing," _he croons, bucking his hips in a way that signals to me he's close. It's fine, because I feel my own impending orgasm building as well as Rye reaches a hand under my body and rubs my clit in times with his quick thrusts.

He loosens my hair from its ruined braid, wrapping it around his wrist tightly before pulling it a little, causing me to moan out in pleasure and a jelly-like feeling to wash over my body.

"I'm close," I warn, whimpering as he works faster and harder to drive me to the point of orgasm.

"Me... too," Peeta whispers, his eyes screwing shut tightly as his entire body flexes. I pump him rapidly in my hand, urging him with soft words to come until he finally spills over onto his stomach and down my hand. I try to catch some in my mouth, but whatever lands near it dribbles down my chin into a small puddle by his twitching cock.

He continues to groan and shake through his orgasm and the sight paired with Rye's frantic movements is enough to have me reaching my own point of climax. My arms collapse under me and my head falls against Peeta as euphoric pleasure washes over me. I feel his hands run through my sprawled hair gently as I continue to buck lazily as Rye approaches his own orgasm.

I can hear his heavy pants and moans that grow increasingly louder behind my closed lips and clench around him as he grows harder inside of me before he grips my hips tightly. His entire body shakes as he spills inside of me, some of it dripping down my thighs as he pulls out and falls down against the mattress with a relieved sigh.

It takes a few minutes for our ragged breaths and shaking bodies to still and then I get up and go into the bathroom to clean myself up before returning with two damp cloths for both Rye and Peeta. It takes Rye only a few minutes after re-dressing for bed to fall asleep and Peeta and I lay there in silence, with my head resting on his chest.

"I should go," he finally murmurs when my eyes have just started to droop and my hands instinctively knot against the material of his shirt in protest.

"No," I yawn, moving further into his embrace. "Stay with me."

He's silent and when I turn up to look at him, resting my chin against his chest, he's watching me carefully, eyes deep with emotion.

"Please," I whisper in a plea and his lips turn up slightly at the edges.

"Okay."

* * *

The next morning, as I lay in bed waiting for Rye's alarm to sound, I thought over the events of last night and wondered how things would play out today because of it.

Peeta was gone when I woke up, which I wasn't entirely surprised about, but still sad. It felt nice having his arms wrapped around me, and feeling his heartbeat pounding in my eardrum.

I missed it immediately.

Rye and I needed to leave for the bakery before Peeta was awake. As Rye made me breakfast and we walked hand in hand through town together, I kept expecting him to bring up what happened last night, if for no other reason than to assure me that it couldn't happen again.

But he doesn't. And the longer we go without talking about it, the more I feel it'd be awkward to bring it up. So, I don't.

It's a typical morning at the bakery - Lacy stops in for her normal order _plus two_ and Rye keeps busy with the customers as I sweep up and grab things from the back to replenish the stock. Although I try my hardest to stay on task, I find myself distracted by thoughts of Peeta and the way every muscle in his body clenched as he came last night, or how sweetly he had been staring down at me when I asked him to stay...

Or what he's doing right now...

"Mrs. Mellark?"

My head snaps up as Mrs. Undersee looks to me with wide eyes of disbelief and Rye laughs airily, shaking his head.

"Oh! I'm sorry!" I apologize quickly, my cheeks stinging with embarrassment for having been caught daydreaming.

"It _still_ hasn't grown on you?" she asks, raising a skeptical eyebrow in my direction and I wonder how many times she's called out for me.

"No... no, it has, it's just-"

"She's not feeling quite herself today," Rye excuses, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I was thinking of sending her home to get some rest, actually."

Mrs. Undersee shoots me a look of sympathy and I school my face into a pathetic smile, not wanting to give Rye's lie away.

"Poor thing, you aren't the only one who's coming down with something. Weird time of year to be feeling sick though."

"I think rest will do her good," Rye assures, handing her the package before thanking her with a small nod.

"Bless you," she smiles before waving a little towards me. "Take care, Mrs. Mellark. Who knows, maybe it's a _baby."_

She means it to be suggestive and casts a wink over her shoulder playfully, but I feel Rye's grip on my shoulder tighten and it feels like I can't breathe. I somehow force a smile to my face, nodding tightly and even releasing a breathless chuckle before she exits with one last wave.

"Thanks," I say, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know why I'm spacing out so much today."

"I do," Rye smiles and when I feel my skin grow hotter he only laughs. "Go home, Katniss."

"What? No! I can't just leave you he-"

"Do you see anyone else here?" he asks, gesturing around to the empty bakery. "It's been slow all day, and... I mean this in the nicest way possible, I really do, but... it's not like you've been an abundance of help today, _Mrs. Mellark."_

I scowl, swatting at him as he chuckles humorously before patting my shoulder, pushing me towards the door.

"No, but really, get out of here," Rye says. "You have things you need to take care of at home... right?"

I grin with appreciation, tugging the apron off from over my dress before leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I'll see you tonight."

It works to my advantage that the square is mostly dead this time of day, because I don't have to stop and chat mindlessly with anyone or explain falsely why I'm heading home so early on a work day.

Unlike Rye, I am not a good liar.

The house is quiet when I push the door open and I don't immediately call out for Peeta in fear of waking him if he's still asleep. Instead, I climb the stairs walk down the hall stealthily until I'm outside his bedroom.

The door is opened, signaling he's most likely awake and when I poke a head inside I find him hunched over his bed with twenty or so papers spread out in front of him and his notepad balanced carefully on his lap. He's sketching, one of the first things I'd come to really remember about him after we moved in together, and I watch as his whole body tenses in concentration as he shades what appears to be hair. I watch his tongue which sticks out just slightly past his lips and the thick veins in his hands that bulge when he grips the pencil tightly.

After a long minute, I rasp my knuckles against his door quietly, smiling when he turns up to look at me in surprise.

"Oh, hi Katniss," he says, sitting up straighter and shutting the sketch pad on his lap.

"Mind if I come in?" I ask, shifting on my feet a little.

"Of course not, come on in," he says, "What are you doing home so early?"

"Rye sent me," I say before looking up at him teasingly. "I was pretty distracted. Not such a bad excuse to come see you, huh?"

"Well, you don't ever need an excuse," he chuckles, his cheeks flushing with my words as he scoots further over on his bed, patting a spot on the mattress for me to sit down.

His bed's frame is smaller than the one Rye and I share and I recognize it from childhood, as it holds stark similarity to my own back in the Seam. The memory of my last few years in that bed are not the fondest, as I remember it seemingly growing smaller the bigger I got.

I can't imagine it's too comfortable for Peeta at night.

But, with us both sitting, there's plenty of room and I glance down at the scattered pieces of paper decorating the top of his bedspread. I feel his eyes trained on the top of my head as he watches me roam over his work and occasionally feel the bed shift as he changes his position.

"You're brilliant," I breathe, tracing my fingers along the tattered edge of one of his older pictures.

"Oh, thank god," he breathes out and when I turn up to him in confusion, the corners of his mouth lift teasingly. "It's just that usually when people are looking at something that quietly, it's not a good thing."

"I was speechless," I smirk, picking up each sheet of paper and stacking them into one neat pile before placing them on top of his dresser.

The notebook he had been busily sketching out of before I walked in still flipped down out of view and balancing on his restless leg. He catches me staring and instinctively places a tight grip around it before glancing up at me, somewhat sheepish. I smile back, moving in a little closer to him until our knees bump.

"I was watching you draw before I came in," I tell him honestly. "You didn't even realize I was standing there. It was like you were universes away."

"It... takes a lot of my focus," he admits with a nod.

"Mind if I look?"

"It's not finished," he replies, lamely, running a hand over the back of his neck.

"I don't mind," I say quietly. "I'm sure it's beautiful."

"Katniss..." he speaks in protest, but when I slip a hand around it, turning it over so that it's right side up, he doesn't fight me.

I hear him sigh deeply through the silence that fills the room as I study the picture in front of me. It's of a girl, drawn so life-like it's startling as she stares back at me deeply. Her eyes are large and dark with just a glimmer of light touching the corners of them. Misplaced pieces of her hair fall down over her forehead and off to the side of her cheek, but the majority of it is pulled back into a long braid which spills over the side of her shoulder.

Weaved into the detailed braid are flowers.

It takes only a short moment to realize the portrait is of me and my heart rate picks up. I glance up at him, searching for permission as my fingers tease the edges of the notepad. When he doesn't immediately snatch the book away, I flip the page to find another drawing. This time her lips are parted with a large smile, and another one tucks a piece of hair behind her ear while glancing up bashfully through her eyelids.

I flip the page one more time and inhale sharply, staring down widely, unable to catch my breath as I take in the scene before me.

She's down on her knees, in between two strong legs, her hands reaching up for the buttons of the man's slacks. There's just a hint of a smile pressed to her lips and a delicate curl falls over her left eye as she stares up with determination.

My tongue darts out past my lips, running over them slowly as I recall the memory to mind; the way he squirmed beneath my touch, how his teeth felt sinking into my skin as he came...

"I'm sorry," he whispers, shutting the notebook suddenly and pushing it behind his back. "I... that was probably really creepy."

My head turns up to look at him slowly as I feel a pooling heat settle itself between my legs. My stomach coils and tingles as I rake my eyes over his thick arms and up to where his Adam's apple bobs with a heavy swallow.

"I just wanted to remember it," he breathes out in explanation. "I didn't expect that... it would ever happen again..."

"Why?" I ask him quietly, pressing my palm into his rapidly pulsing chest until he falls back against the headboard of his bed with a short grunt. His eyes widen as I hitch a leg over his hips and press myself down against him, arching an eyebrow in question.

"Well... because... _ugh,"_ he cuts off, biting his lip as his hands reach down to grip my hips, helping them set a steady rhythm over his groin where I can already feel him beginning to harden.

"You think I don't want you?" I breathe, my voice catching as I feel myself growing more wet. I place a kiss against the base of his neck, swirling my tongue in small circles around the sensitive flesh before biting down, smiling as his hips buck uncontrollably.

"_Katniss," _he groans, his eyes screwing shut as his hands caress my ribcage. I gasp as they reach the front of my shirt, kneading my breasts experimentally and twisting his fingers around the hardening peaks of my nipples.

"I want you," I tell him, isolating each word as I pronounce them.

"You have me," he promises, letting out a frustrated moan as I pull away from the grasp his hands have on me. I watch his parted lips drop open further as I lift the corners of my t-shirt up until it's over my hand and flung off into the corner.

"_Now,"_ I reiterate and he leans up, encasing me into a kiss. I breathe heavily against him, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra, tossing it blindly in the general direction of my shirt.

The rest of our clothing disappears in a quick mess until I'm in nothing but my underwear and Peeta sits in his pants. He breaks away from his needy attack on my collarbone, leaving the skin there slick with saliva and red, to glance down at my hands which teasingly play with his zipper.

I lower it down, the noise cutting into the silence as I meet his darkened orbs, begging for the needed permission.

Peeta swallows heavily, his hands clenched into fists against the mattress as he debates with himself internally. I watch his eyebrows knit together and mouth tighten and can feel him shaking beneath me before I move a hand up to run it through his hair and over his stinging cheekbone.

"Peeta," I mumble soothingly. "Eventually, you're going to have to let me."

"I know," he breathes quietly, casting his gaze to the side.

"I want _all_ of you," I say with clear intentions. "But, that requires taking these off."

He stiffens as I tug on the material, his hips flexing further down before he sighs deeply and relaxes.

"You're right," he says with a nod, seemingly convincing himself more than me.

"Okay," I say slowly, moving the tips of my fingers inside of his pants. "Then let's do this together."

"...Together?" he says and I nod.

"Together," I repeat, watching as he slowly moves his hands to snake over the top of his slacks, tightening their grip around them. We move them down over his hips in time with one another, this time, not stopping until they slip down his ankle and I help him kick it off over his foot.

Peeta looks around uneasily, shifting his hips a little in discomfort.

I allow my eyes to rake over his body, from his broad chest - heaving with his anticipatory breaths - to where his erection sits flush against his belly, pulsing a little in excitement, and finally down to where there is nothing where a leg should be.

The skin of his thigh looks soft and I carefully reach out to touch the edge of where his leg ends, right about where his knee cap would have been. Peeta winces when I come into contact with it and I immediately pull back, my cheeks flushing.

"Did that hurt?"

"No," he says quietly. "Just sensitive."

"Sorry," I say, cautiously reaching out again to trail just a finger over him, moving up until I get to his shivering hips.

"You're beautiful," I tell him honestly, rubbing the skin under his belly button, feeling the muscles flex underneath it.

"You're incredible," he tells me back, his eyes large with awe as he looks to me unbelievingly. I watch him swallow harshly, forcing a shy smile to his lips as I slide my underwear down my legs and position myself over the top of him.

He grabs hold of his swollen erection, tilting it up towards me bashfully, painfully unaware of what he is or isn't supposed to do. I take hold of him right above his own palm, biting my lip when he grunts a little as my hand slides up and down his silky skin a few times.

I push the tip of him past my slick folds, panting in time with Peeta's ragged breaths as I slowly lower myself down on top of him until he's fully inside of me. I unconsciously tighten around him at the new girth, causing us both to cry out as Peeta's hands land heavily on my hips, stilling them.

"Just a second," he barely chokes, his eyes screwed shut tightly and his muscles clenched. "I just... don't move for a second, please."

"Okay," I whisper, stilling my movements for a paused moment until his body relaxes slightly and his face softens, allowing his lidded eyes to open. He nods his head a little as an okay, immediately letting it fall back into the pillow behind him as I start to move up and down on top of him.

I feel his entire form shaking underneath me, and his hands grip my hips tightly, tracing small patterns on them with his fingers as his hips begin to buck up towards mine more.

His lips stay parted as a chorus of moans fall from them and when I thrust so that he goes particularly deep, his eyes grow wide and he calls out my name.

"_Oh Katniss," _he repeats, the word falling from his lips as though it were truly something precious.

"Peeta," I sigh as I move quicker against him.

"Oh god," Peeta whimpers, his head thrashing to the side. "Say it... again. _Ugh."_

"_Peeta," _I croon, my head falling onto his chest as our hips buck at a more irregular pace. I can feel his heart pounding beneath his skin and when I grip his arm and shoulder roughly, his hands wrap themselves around my back, pulling me in closer to him, as if we were one.

"I can't... I won't last," Peeta warns, his teeth gritting as he tries to fight off the inevitable. "W-Where...?"

"Just let go," I pant, biting down on my lip hard as I wiggle more fiercely against him. "I want you to, Peeta."

It's all it takes to feel his body stiffen beneath mine and his arms wrap around my skin tighter as I feel him empty himself inside of me. My body curls into his as my own orgasm racks my body, my moans commingling with his.

We stay wrapped up within one another until our breathing slows and our bodies cease to stop shaking and then I roll off to the side of him, resting my head on his chest.

His forehead is sweaty when I reach up to push his damp curls out from his face and he smiles the best he can manage before letting out one last shaky breath.

I close my eyes as his lips press against mine, smiling as he places one last one on the tip of my nose.

"Katniss," he murmurs, his voice sounding further behind the darkness of my lids. "I love you."

* * *

_To be continued..._

* * *

This work was originally written as a one-shot for tumblr's **Prompts in Panem **(go to tumblr page for details) but after wanting to write a simple threesome turned into _this, _I've decided to continue it on with 1-2 more parts. There's currently no ETA on the next chapter, since I have other WIPs that are merely one chapter from completion and need my attention, but if you add me or LoD to your alerts you'll be the first to know when a new chapter arrives.

I also wanted to take a moment to thank my friend, misshoneywell, who is a major reason why this story turned out the way it has and also nmoreblack for pre-reading and being an awesome cheerleader :)

Follow me on tumblr if you'd like to keep updated: stutteringpeeta. Links on profile.


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